


A Cry In The Dark

by Hoglorfen (LadyWhin)



Series: In The Glow Of The Mountain [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Romance, Biting, Consensual Violence, Dark Humor, Dirty Talk, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Minor Character Death, Mordor, Multi, Oral Sex, Orc Culture, Orcs, Pack Hierarchy, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Slavery, Swearing, Torture, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 171,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhin/pseuds/Hoglorfen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game of war is set and the pieces begin to move as an insane plan is hatched. A betrayal leads the High Officer Záhovar and her minions on a mad chase that will take them to places unknown, but can they keep the group stable as tensions rise?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelation

The Black Tower never slept. No matter the time of day or night, there were always people in the streets and things going on. The moments when the constant activity calmed down happened randomly and were rare. Lugburz was more than just a fortress and the seat of the Dark Lord; it was a city in its own right, the nave of the wheel of war that ever spun according to the whim of the Eye. It was also the only one in the known world where Orcs were not only welcome but made up the majority of the denizens. The Men that lived here; mainly Black Númenoreans, Rhûnlanders and Khandians but also others from the more distant lands under the Shadow had their own district near the North-West Gate, a place which Graznikh made sure to steer clear of. Not only had he no reason to go there, but he hated the whole lot of them with a passion. Their kind had taken too much from him; both his birthplace and the mother he did not even remember. And his Elf; Whindaër's captors had been tarks. The punishment for starting a fight in the Tark District was simple and brutal – 30 lashes, and 20 extra for every repeat, no matter who started it. It was the only place in Lugburz where Orcs were not welcome, and for that reason it was a place of relative calm in the churning maelstrom. Of course, the High Officers were exempt from all rules. They could go wherever they pleased, do whatever they pleased, as long as they did not outright 'go rogue' against the Eye.  
  
Graznikh and Záhovar stood on the temporarily deserted outer wall, looking out over the western side of the Gorgoroth plateau towards the pass of Isenmouthe. Graznikh glanced at his master. She looked weary and the bond confirmed it. _Skai, I almost killed her. She's been covering my every mistake an' I've just been givin' her more an' more fronts to fight on. An' she never said a word, she thought_ she _was the one bein' weak. It took an Uruk's fist to my face to make me see.  
_ Graznikh shifted a little and winced. Once he'd realised exactly how much he had fucked up, he had gone straight to Záhovar despite Praktash's protests that he was going to get himself killed. But he had no choice. He had grovelled, begged for forgiveness, for mercy, for a quick death. Záhovar had given neither, and he still shuddered every time he remembered the look on her face as the whip kissed his pale skin. Ten lashes was a light punishment, but a more severe one would have rendered him even more useless as a bodyguard. Graznikh had refused to leave her side ever since and had seen with his own eyes what Praktash had mentioned. There was no safe place anywhere for her, and bringing him along seemed to give the other Officers new ammunition for their scorn.  
”They don't fuckin' deserve ya,” Graznikh growled. ”Those Officers I mean,” he added as Záhovar gave him an inquisitive glance. ”You're better'n 'em, all of 'em. Think of it; you're not just seen by the Eye, you're fuckin' _touched_ by Him! Think they were ever worthy o' that? They should be pissin' their pants every time ya look at 'em!”  
Záhovar frowned and became increasingly pensive as he continued. ”They don't deserve ya. So you fuck Orcs; what of it? You're a High Officer – you make the rules! Ya shouldn't hafta care what others think.”  
”The damage is already done.”  
”Yeah, which is why I suggest you drop out. Ya don't hafta stay in the Tower, that place is a deathtrap for ya.”  
”That may not matter soon.”  
”Don't...” Graznikh fell quiet as he fought the fear, anxiety and futile rage threatening to overwhelm him. A small part of him felt satisfaction at seeing Záhovar's eyes widen slightly as he pushed them at her through the bond. _I can't lose ya, I just fuckin' can't!_ ”You're still useful, aren't ya? I know the stuff you've done isn't enough, but still.”  
”I cannot presume to know the mind of our Master.”  
”I know, I just... don't wanna see ya go. Not like this.” Graznikh opened and closed his hands repeatedly to keep from throwing himself at her. Even though the wall _seemed_ deserted, there were eyes everywhere.  
  
Záhovar eventually turned to face him. ”So what would you have me do? Assuming that I live through the coming night. Praktash mentioned a plan of some sort, but only in passing.”  
”Yeah... Ya can't go back, can't wash this off. You're branded now, surely as if they'd taken the iron to ya. So use it.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”How does one 'use' a tarnished reputation?”  
”By turnin' it back in yer enemy's face.” Graznikh growled. ”We know who's behind this. He's been spreadin' it high an' low. Even tried to accuse ya of bein' a golug spy. Wait! Hear me out,” he snapped as Záhovar bristled at the accusation. ”He wants ya to be known as an Orc-fancier; that's not necessarily a bad thing.”  
”Excuse me?”  
”Well, am I a bad thing? Is Praktash? Would ya rather we both were dead an' gone?”  
”No, but...”  
”Then listen,” Graznikh said and lowered his voice to a whisper. ”The Top Ones always treat us Orcs like cattle. We're just tools to be used. But look 'round ya. Who built this place? Who keeps it runnin'? Who taught ya how to fight? We're everywhere. An' we're not just back-stabbin' gutter rats, ya know that. Don'tcha?”  
Záhovar shifted slightly and looked out over Gorgoroth for a while before meeting Graznikh's glowing eyes again. ”And why would your kind accept me any more than the tarks do?”  
”Most Orcs don't give a shit who or what ya bed, 's long as you're a solid commander. I've listened a bit to the gossip about ya downstairs; most folks think it's odd, some think it's sick, some have a laugh, but they don't hold it against ya the way the tarks do. They don't think you're a worse High Officer for it.” Graznikh leered a little. ”The most common comment I heard's that ya have unusually good taste for a Top One.”  
”And how much of this have you heard while spreading these 'rumours' yourself?”  
”Some,” he admitted. ”Mostly I've just tried to put some sense into it, shift things in your favour. Praktash's been doin' the same thing. Get in good with the right folks, an' you'll have an army in no time. An uzhâk perhaps, or a hûrk even, that'd be enough, if ya got the right people on th' team. People that'll follow not 'cause they're told to, but 'cause they wanna. Me an' Praktash, we've got contacts. We can drop a few words in the right ears, just give the order. They'll be tremblin' in yer shadow yet, don'tcha worry.”  
  
As Záhovar evaluated his suggestion, Graznikh couldn't help but wonder over the fact that they were the same height. When they were surrounded by others, Graznikh could feel himself shrinking or growing depending on her displeasure with him, but right now he could look her in the eyes as an equal. As he did so, he let himself fall into them. There was an odd, flickering light deep behind the catlike pupils, like the moon shining through uneven ice. _Akûlhân, mîr graz zêmar. Gurb âmbal zâhovar...  
_ Záhovar frowned. ”What?”  
Graznikh scratched his neck with an embarrassed little grin when he realised he had been whispering. ”Sorry, just thinkin' out loud.”  
”'Ice moon'..?” She raised an eyebrow.  
”Ye're so beautiful,” Graznikh whispered with an affectionate smile. Záhovar gave him a blank look.  
”I do not know what that word means.”  
”Yeah, I know.”  
”And you will not explain.”  
”I've already tried, an' it didn't work,” he replied with a sigh. He hadn't known the meaning of 'beauty' either before he met Whin, and after that her face and shape was the only meaning he could put to it. Záhovar had nothing whatsoever to refer to, she couldn't even comprehend the words he used to describe it. And how did one describe a concept that didn't even _have_ a definitive meaning anyway?  
He reached out through the bond, not wanting or giving anything in particular. He just wanted to feel her. After a moment's hesitation, Záhovar met him and they stayed like that, holding invisible hands while looking out over the empty plain.  
As the seventh toll trembled up the Tower, the tension in the air rose until it felt static and charged.  
”Where is Praktash?” Záhovar asked.  
”Drug store,” Graznikh replied. ”Packin' up, just in case. Why?”  
”It is time. Let us go to him.”

The Uruk drug dealer was wrapping ceramic jars with straw and packing them into a crate. His and Graznikh's packs lay on the counter, containing all they'd need for a lengthy trip. One look at his pale little buddy's face as they entered told him all he needed to know, and he met Záhovar's expressionless gaze with anticipation.  
Záhovar said nothing as she removed the collar from his neck. Then she turned to do the same to Graznikh, but he took a step back.  
”Wait,” he whispered as he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ”Just a little...” He glanced at the door, then he closed in. Záhovar made no move to stop or encourage him as he took her face in his hands and kissed her, but she did return it briefly in the end. As they kissed, the collar clicked open and fell into Záhovar's hand.  
”Can I have it?” Graznikh asked. ”As a keepsake, I mean.”  
”Are you sure? If someone finds it on your person...”  
”I don't care,” he growled. ”I ain't got nothin' to hide. Not that anyway.” As she placed the collar in Graznikh's hand, Praktash secretly wished that he could say the same. Perhaps one day, far away from Lugburz. ”Good luck,” he said as she turned to leave.  
Záhovar gave him a mildly surprised look. ”The same to you.” Then she opened the door to the drug store and was gone. Graznikh bared his fangs in a pained grimace, then he collapsed against the counter with Praktash's hand on his shaking shoulder.

  
Záhovar briefly returned to her quarters, but she had nothing left to do there. She took one last glance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable. Her armour was recently polished and oiled, all the dents and scrapes removed or made invisible by Graznikh's skilled hands. Her clothes were new, she herself was bathed and her hair brushed and braided. The brooch that the Dark Lord had given her was at her throat, glowing dully with its own, eerie light. She made sure that all the little hidden knives that Graznikh had attached to the inside of her armour were in place, as well as the poisoned spikes inside her braid, courtesy of Praktash. When all was in order, she left her quarters to head down to the great audience hall. On the way, she encountered Agannâlô.  
”A momentous occasion,” the Black Númenorean commented as he began to walk beside her, his ceremonial armour creaking softly as he moved.  
”Indeed. Nothing will be the same after this.”  
”Do you know what the night will entail? I have heard only whispers in the dark.”  
”Those whispers are more than you think. They will be revealed.”  
Agannâlô gave her a confused glance. Záhovar wondered if she dared say more; she and Agannâlô might have fought and traveled together, but they had no official alliance or agreements. As they passed a corner in one of the many corridors one of the Nazgûl suddenly barred their way. Záhovar did not recognise its silvery face as it turned to face them. Agannâlô continued a few steps further, almost walking into the wraith before he noticed that his company had stopped. He frowned and looked around, and Záhovar realised that he could not see the wraith that stood right in front of him, studying him intently.  
”What is this devilry?” Agannâlô asked quietly. His breath came in little white clouds and he could no doubt feel the chill and dread that followed in the Nazgûl's wake.  
”I would strongly advise you to take three steps back,” Záhovar said. Agannâlô straightened up; being 'advised' in such a straightforward manner by another High Officer was not something lightly accepted, much less freely heeded. But when the Nazgûl leaned forward and tentatively licked his cheek he blanched and quickly did as suggested, eyes darting back and forth along the seemingly empty corridor ahead.  
”Much will be revealed,” Záhovar said. The wraith met her gaze briefly before turning and disappearing down the corridor with unnatural speed. A clear bell tolled in the silence.  
  
The doors to the audience hall were still closed but the waiting room was packed full as Záhovar and Agannâlô entered, and more people arrived all the time. Not a single Orc or Uruk was fit to join this elevated company. All the High Officers had gathered, as well as couriers, delegates, diplomats, nobles, high priests, cult leaders and other people of note from all the realms beneath the Shadow. To many of them the Lord of the Black Land was a deity, a demigod walking the earth and the Voice of Melkor, visible and far more real than any distant, unfamiliar Valar. To them all He was the Lord of Arda, its rightful ruler and the determiner of its fate. To question was to fail.  
Záhovar discreetly looked for Eälaion but saw him nowhere. He would have stood out in the crowd in his simple servant's robes, unless he came in disguise. She could see the Nazgûl as well, all nine of them; unclad and unseen to most they slithered through the crowds, chilling the air and basking in the fear that permeated the air around them.  
One of them appeared beside her and Záhovar immediately recognised Jí Indur's silvery braids and dark, translucent skin. But that name was forfeit. At dusk they had entered the royal quarters in Mûmakan together; at dawn he had risen as Nazgûl. In her mind, Záhovar had begun to refer to him as 'Dawndeath' for that reason. Now she gave the wraith a cold look that it returned with equal chill.  
”Dawndeath.” It was the first time she had spoken it poenly to the wraith. It seemed to acknowledge it, but Záhovar did not know how she could tell.  
_”Záhovar.”_  
Agannâlô's eyes widened as he heard the hiss.  
” _Tonight, we are One,”_ the wraith hissed. _”Tonight, thou will join the Shadow.”_  
”I have another path to tread,” she replied.  
_”Not anymore.”_  
Záhovar opened her mouth to ask what the Nazgûl meant, but the doors to the audience hall swung open and red light filtered out. As she looked around, the wraith was gone.  
  
Gîrakûn took the Nazgûl's place at her side.  
”You are still alive,” she commented, stating the obvious. ”That is good.”  
Záhovar bowed her head slightly, acknowledging that she considered Gîrakûn to be higher in rank than herself. As did Agannâlô, though the witch ignored him. He was too far down the ladder.  
”How is Blog Shakâmb?”  
”Life is good,” Gîrakûn said. ”Quieter, now that the latest batch of Black Uruks have been sent to their posts. I must say, I miss the din a little.”  
”I can hardly imagine,” Záhovar said. ”It never seems to cease here.”  
Gîrakûn laughed a little. ”Once the war picks up pace, things might quiet down even here. Do leave the politics here in Lugburz and come visit your old tutor some time, if you survive the night. I have something I wish to show you that I believe you might enjoy.”  
”I will consider it,” Záhovar said tactfully. Since her elevation, she had heard some rumours about Gîrakûn's 'experiments' and she was not sure if she wanted to partake in such... indulgences.  
The crowd began to enter. There was no need to go in any particular order; the Eye knew their purpose already, and those who did not know the others' rank had only themselves to blame. But even so, the political game was played even here. Alliances and nemesis were flaunted or obscured according to need or whim. Záhovar and Agannâlô entered together, an act that could be seen as an alliance even though no word of such had been spoken between them.  
  
One by one, every guest walked up to the Dark Lord's throne to pay homage. Some brought gifts and tribute, others brought nothing but themselves. No one truly knew what was preferred, but efforts were made nonetheless. Everything Záhovar had and was were His already, so she simply fell to her knees, brow touching the crimson carpet before the throne.  
The Dark Lord smiled at her and beckoned for her to rise. His form had changed; although He still had the same fiery red hair His skin was now a dark grey and His eyes burned with unveiled Power. He was the most beautiful being Záhovar had ever been blessed to look upon, and for a moment His presence made her confused and dumbfounded.  
There was a sound like a soft wind going through the crowd as He held His ring-hand out towards her. A select few of the other High Officers had recieved a similar honour; to kiss the Ring, but Záhovar had been something of a wildcard in that respect. This elevated her significantly. The Ring was hot like a smouldering coal and she could both hear and feel her lips sizzle as they touched it. The Dark Lord lifted her chin with one finger and briefly His eyes pierced her soul, seeing everything. Záhovar shivered as she retreated.  
  
As the long line of attendees finally reached its end, the Dark Lord stood.  
”My Eye sees all,” He began. ”It pierces clouds, shadow, earth and flesh.” As He spoke, His body darkened and seemed to grow taller while a flickering light began to grow in strength behind Him. ”None can escape it. You are all Seen.” The light spread outward, red flames and lightning reached towards the sides until they licked the walls on each side of the audience hall. The Dark Lord's figure stretched into a black catlike pupil in a burning, lidless Eye. Many fell to their knees as their God revealed Himself in His full glory, but no matter how she tried Záhovar could not do the same. An invisible force held her upright. Záhovar noticed a few thrown glances at her own eyes, so very much like His but blue and dull in comparison.  
”THE WORLD IS CHANGING, AND YOU WITH IT.” His voice boomed now, echoing out from the audience hall and sending tremors throughout the Tower as His power was no longer cloaked by illusions of flesh. ”NEW NAMES, NEW PURPOSES. TRIALS WILL DETERMINE WHICH OF YOU ARE SUITED.” The room darkened until nothing but the Eye could be seen.  
_”ASH NAZG DURBATULÛK. ASH NAZG GIMBATUL. ASH NAZG THRAKATULÛK. AGH BURZUM-ISHI KRIMPATUL.”_  
The crowd joined in, chanting the verse as one. As they did so, nine cloaked figures emerged through the fire of the Dark Lord's Eye, metal creaking underneath their black robes and dark longswords held up before them. One of them wore a black, twisted crown. Slowly the Eye faded and the Dark Lord emerged again in the flesh.  
”Behold My Nazgûl,” He said, holding His arms out towards the tall wraiths that stood motionless before Him. ”Nine, bound as one, to the One. They are extensions of My will, and do My bidding wherever they go. Some of you have already seen or sensed them; see them now in earnest. If you fail Me, they will never stop hunting you.” The last was aimed at the High Officers.  
The wraiths moved; four to each side of the throne, with the crowned Nazgûl Lord moving to stand on the right side of the throne. The Dark Lord sat down and beckoned for a group of blindfolded Lug-snaga that had lined the walls to step forth. They moved among the crowd, whispering His commands to the High Officers.  
”You will remain behind after the ceremony,” one of them whispered to Záhovar. Even though another spoke to Agannâlô right beside her, she could not hear a single word of what the slave said. When they had finished and retreated, three High Officers stepped forward. The Dark Lord looked into each man's eyes briefly before He pointed at one of them.  
”You will be My Mouth,” He said. The Tower slaves suddenly came running from all directions, grabbing the man's arms and legs and holding hid head so that he could not move. They then proceeded to pluck his eyeballs out from his head. The room was silent as the grave apart from the man's screams, and the two fortunate Officers who had not been chosen quickly backed away. The Dark Lord moved His hand across the man's bleeding face, and as he removed it it was as if he had never had eyes to begin with. The skin was smooth over the sockets where his eyes had once been. He still screamed as if the wounds were still fresh though.  
”You will be My Mouth,” the Dark Lord repeated, raising His voice to be heard over the screams. ”You will speak My word and nothing else. You will be the Lieutenant of Lugburz and command its garrisons and Low Officers.”  
  
The man was pulled to his feet and the Tower slaves led him out. A large table with a map of the Black Land and its surroundings was carried into the audience hall next. The Dark Lord rose and walked down to it.  
”A victory against Númenor is no small thing to accomplish,” He said as three new Officers, among them Agannâlô, warily stepped forward. ”If given free hands, how would you accomplish it?” He pointed at one of them. The man cleared his throat and studied the map. Then he frowned.  
”Elenna is not even on this map,” he said.  
”Wrong answer. Next!” the Dark Lord snapped. The man stepped back with downcast eyes. _He should be grateful that he still lives,_ Záhovar thought.  
”I would lead the troops into the Anduin delta,” the next man said. ”There we can place siege equipment on the islands and thus bring the Númenorean fleet down.”  
”An interesting suggestion,” the Dark Lord admitted.  
”And what of the Harnen?” Agannâlô asked. The Dark Lord frowned at him, no doubt angered at his audacity to speak out of turn.  
The other Officer frowned. ”Harnen?”  
”The fleet is vast, they will not send all of it into the delta. They would send parts of it up along the rivers Harnen and Gilrain and attack our flank and rear from both sides. We would never hold the islands, it is doomed to fail.”  
The Dark Lord beckoned for Agannâlô to step forward. Záhovar gave him a nearly imperceptible nod of encouragement. As he approached, their Master motioned towards the map table. ”And how would you accomplish it?”  
Agannâlô studied the map intently before speaking a single word. ”Retreat.”  
The silence in the hall was choking as the Dark Lord's eyes widened, and His voice was thick with barely controlled rage as He spoke. ”Explain.”  
Agannâlô pointed at the southern shore. ”The strength of Númenor lies in its fleet. The ground troops are numerous but weak and inexperienced in comparison, and they have never fought Orcs on a larger scale. My suggestion is this: harass their colonies and retreat, make them think we are not strong enough to fight them in the open. Let them think us frightened and weak. Meanwhile, we stock up on supplies. Here, and here. And here. Draw them off their ships and into the Nûrnen area. Not only is it a long road to march from the shores with many opportunities for ambushes and flank attacks, it will also buy us time. With filled larders we can afford to lose the slave fields and give them even more fuel to their arrogance. Then we empty the surrounding strongholds on their rearguard and cut them off before sending the Uruks at them from the front.” It was clear that he had thought this over before.  
The Dark Lord gave him a flat stare. ”A deception. Is that your suggestion?”  
”It is, Master,” Agannâlô replied and bowed. As the Dark Lord watched him under heavy lids and glanced at the map, the silence became uncomfortable. It was almost a relief when He broke it. ”You are My Black Hand. You will do this.”  
Agannâlô waited for an assault similar to what the new Mouth had been put through, but none came. The Dark Lord smiled a little as He dismissed him with a wave of His hand.  
  
More announcements and assignments were made, but Záhovar paid little attention to them. She was growing increasingly nervous and Dawndeath's words returned to her over and over as the night passed. She congratulated Agannâlô on his new title that had in one stroke lifted him from near the bottom of the hierarchy to the very top. He looked shaken and greatly humbled by the ordeal.  
”I fear that it will be a drawn-out campaign,” he confided to Záhovar. ”If you are not given other tasks tonight, I would be honoured to have your help in this endeavour.”  
”We shall see what the night brings,” Gîrakûn said, finally acknowledging his existence now that they were nearly equal in rank. Záhovar remained silent.  
After many tolls, the ceremony reached its end. The guests left, alone or in small groups, excitedly discussing the night's events and the possible implications. Agannâlô invited Záhovar and Gîrakûn to a private dinner, but Záhovar declined without an explanation. He gave her a scrutinising look before understanding dawned upon him and he nodded.  
”Good luck,” he said as he departed.  
Soon the audience hall was empty apart from Záhovar, the castellan and the ambassador to the East. The Nazgûl and the Lug-snaga remained as well, standing motionless like statues at their posts. The Dark Lord's smile was a terrible thing to behold as the three Officers approached the throne.  
”Well then, My Officers. You will now tell Me, one by one, which one of you should be My Shadow and why.”  
The ambassador of the East began a long tirade about his merits and long service. The Dark Lord listened patiently before turning to the castellan without a word.  
”I would serve Thee loyally, as I have always done,” the castellan said. ”I would bring Thy enemies to the Shadow and break their wills and necks if need be. All of Arda will be at Thy feet.”  
”It already is,” He replied. Záhovar felt His gaze upon her, but she remained silent. _I will let my actions speak for me,_ she thought. _I will not succumb to foolish pride._ The Dark Lord's smile slowly widened as the silence stretched and His beautiful eyes glittered with amusement. Soon His laughter rang out in the hall, followed by the scornful snickering of the two Men. Záhovar remained silent even as He stood towering over her.  
”Is this your only answer? Silence? Have you nothing at all to say about yourself?”  
  
As Záhovar answered Him with more silence and met His eyes with pretended calm, He seemed to be mildly impressed.  
”That is indeed the perfect answer,” He whispered and turned to the two confused Officers. ”Let her be your example, and learn why you have failed; A Shadow remains _SILENT._ ”  
The last word was one of Power. Záhovar reeled even though it was not meant for her, and the two Black Númenoreans screamed and began clawing at their faces. Blood and steam bubbled out of every orifice as if their insides boiled, and the Dark Lord watched with angelic calm as they were slowly reduced to wet lumps of boiled, half-melted flesh at His feet. The Nazgûl closed in around them, drinking in the essence of their deaths.  
Záhovar forced herself to watch as well, then directed her eyes to the floor as she felt His gaze.  
”Henceforth, you are My Shadow. None will know of this except a chosen few, and you will remain as you are. Your first task is this: travel south, find what is disrupting the supply lines and _crush_ it. You will not return until it is done.” He held out His Ring-hand, and Záhovar screamed as the brooch at her throat exploded.  
  
  
Graznikh and Praktash were playing dice in Praktash's old crib to pass the time as they waited. Praktash had brought a skin filled with his latest successful booze experiment and after finishing half of it Graznikh was so drunk that he could no longer sit up. Now he was lying on the stone floor, giggling like an idiot.  
”We shud juss' stop dhis,” he chuckled. ”I can' even see th' dice an'more.”  
”Can't hold your drink, eh?” Praktash chuckled. He was nowhere near as drunk as Graznikh.  
”Shaddap! Yuh been holdin' out.” Graznikh tried to hold onto the skin he was hugging but Praktash removed it with ease and took one last swig before corking it shut.  
”'M gon' die,” Graznikh whimpered and giggled at the same time. ”I can' lose 'er 'gain, I jus' can'.”  
”She'll be fine,” Praktash said and hoped he sounded reassuring. ”At least ya won't be berserkin' this time.” He tapped the drinking skin with a finger. Graznikh tried to make a grab for it from his place down on the floor and missed by an arm's length. He inhaled sharply and Praktash laughed at first, thinking it was just another of his buddy's drunk antics. But then he recognised the absent look Graznikh got every time he focused on the bond.  
”Buddy? Graz, you still here?”  
”What the _fuck_ is goin' on?” Graznikh blurted out, suddenly completely sober. ”I felt... I felt Whin there, just for a moment. But now it's all back to norm-” Then his back cramped hard and he roared in pain.  
”Shit!” Praktash threw the skin away and threw himself over Graznikh to keep him from hurting himself. He groaned as Graznikh dug his claws into his arm. ”'S okay, 's okay. I'm here with ya. No matter what happens, I'm here.”  
Shortly after, Graznikh went limp, shivering and hyperventilating. ”She's alive,” he whispered hoarsely when Praktash asked. ”She's not dead, she's still here.” He began to laugh hysterically, clinging to the Uruk as if he would disappear if he let go.  
  
As Záhovar slumped down onto her bed, she felt as if she had been wrung inside out and hung up to dry. In a way, she had. She lifted a hand and found that her vision was still blurry from the Dark Lord's intrusion and the Nazgûl's embrace. She closed her eyes and touched her neck. It was still sticky with blood. Her throat had been ripped clean open, but the Dark Lord had magically sealed the wound to keep her from bleeding out. Even so, every breath and attempt at swallowing was agony and it would take long before she could speak again. _'A Shadow remains silent', He said. Did He remove my ability for speech, just as He tore the eyes out from His Mouth to keep him from ever being anything else?_ She opened her eyes again and squinted, trying to focus on her bloody fingers. _Power is paid for with sacrifice._  
The shadows seemed to be alive around her. She focused as she had been instructed, coaxing them closer. Little tendrils reached towards her, more and more from every dark corner and nook until the room was filled with them. A black miasma, like a spider's web of pure dread and darkness filled the air. Záhovar rose, strengthened by it. _I will be His Shadow, and all will tremble before me._  
  
Graznikh chose that very moment to enter at a run. He skidded to a stop but Praktash ran into him from behind and they slipped on the bloody marble floor, landing in a heap. His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight; his beloved mistress standing in the room, blood spilling down the front of her armour from a jagged cut across her throat, eyes black as the Void itself and surrounded by the most intense darkness he had ever seen. Even his night-accustomed eyes could not pierce it. He heard Praktash howl in terror behind him but was unable to look away. The shadows wavered and faded as Záhovar let go of them, then she walked over to him. Graznikh began backing away as she approached, but reassurance flooded him through the bond and he managed to relax.  
”Are you... still you?” Graznikh whispered and frowned as Záhovar nodded. He reached out and touched her bloody throat. ”The fuck did they _do_ to ya? Can't speak?” As she shook her head, he turned to call for Praktash and found that the Uruk had passed out. Záhovar walked over to him and touched his temple. But Praktash had no luxury of a soul-to-soul bond to help him understand. The moment he woke up, he threw one glance at Záhovar's bloody visage, screamed out loud and scrambled for the door. Záhovar flicked her hand and the black steel door slammed shut in his face. He then proceeded to try to claw his way through it, too deep in panic to see or hear Graznikh's attempts to calm him down.  
”The fuck do I do now?” Graznikh asked himself. Záhovar answered his question for him. Praktash's body cast a shadow on the door, and suddenly that shadow moved. He shrieked and jumped backwards, then spun to face the High Officer who was now weaving shadows from all sides into a net around him.  
”Záhovar,” Graznikh quietly begged. ”Don't do this to him. _Please._ ”  
As the web closed in, something gave up in Praktash's eyes. He fell to his knees without a sound and simply sat there, staring at the floor with silent tears streaming down his face. Záhovar released the shadows and Graznikh moved to help him, but she held out a hand to stop him and knelt in front of the despondent Uruk. He made no sign of noticing her as she leaned in close and placed her fingertips at his temples, sending the words she could not speak directly into his head. Soon life returned to his eyes, and he nodded and whispered replies to questions Graznikh couldn't hear.  
  
”I am not her,” Záhovar sent. ”And I gave my word never to harm or force you. There is nothing for you to fear.”  
”What happens the night you decide otherwise?” Praktash mouthed back, unable to look at her.  
”That night will not come. What you saw was no less an illusion than the first one, and it was not aimed at you. Had you not believed it, you would have been free.”  
”It ain't so fuckin' easy to just let go like that.”  
”I know. But you will.”  
”...I hate you.”  
”I know that, too.”  
As Záhovar leaned back, Praktash met her gaze briefly before he winced and hid his face in her hair. It was an absurd sight; a large Black Uruk crying like a child newly awakened from a nightmare against the shoulder of a much smaller High Officer with a gaping neck wound. Had they been anywhere else, they would have been the ridicule of the entire Black Land. As it was, Graznikh felt like a third wheel. This was too intimate, something between the two of them and he had no part in it. As if they had read his thoughts (and Záhovar probably had), both Záhovar and Praktash held out a hand to him.  
”Shit,” Graznikh said as he snuggled up to them and got a closer look at the wound in Záhovar's neck. ”I can see the fuckin' windpipe through that hole.”  
Praktash's eyes widened as he spotted it. ”I didn't even see that! How the _fuck_ 're you still alive?!”  
”Still useful,” Záhovar mouthed in reply.  
Praktash nodded grimly, then he rose. ”Should still have some o' the surgery stuff lyin' round here somewhere,” he muttered while rummaging through his locker in the room he shared with Graznikh.  
”What happened back there?” Graznikh asked. ”I thought ya were dead there, for a moment. But you're not.”  
”I have been... promoted. I can say no more.”  
  
”Hold her still,” Praktash said as he returned with his surgery kit. He had dipped both needle and thread in the scalding hot water from the tap in the bathroom and then drenched it in healing salve. Graznikh positioned himself behind Záhovar and held her steady with one fist in her hair and the other around her chest and arms. Praktash gave the wound a thorough examination before pinching the skin on both sides of the cut together. The needle was sharp but crude, made to pierce tough Orc hide rather than her thin skin. Blood began to spill as he sewed and Záhovar hissed every time he pulled the string taut, little red bubbles forming where the wound was still open.  
”Suppose it's bloody useless to tell ya to take a rest,” Praktash grunted as he tied the string and cut it off.  
”I will try not to exert myself,” Záhovar mouthed. ”But there are things we must do. Things you will have to do, since I am... somewhat incapacitated.”  
”You owe me for this,” Praktash growled. Graznikh frowned as he saw the look in the Uruk's eyes.  
”And what do you want?” Záhovar asked without a sound.  
Praktash gave her a sly leer. ”I'll think of somethin'.”  
”So what're we supposed to do?” Graznikh asked. Even mouthing became too painful, so Záhovar took a quill and parchment and wrote down instructions which she gave to Praktash. They had only begun the reading and writing lessons before this happened, and both Graznikh and Praktash were struggling to read the simple-worded instructions. But eventually they got the hang of it and managed to make sense of what she had written.  
”We're gonna need more'n just the three o' us if we're gonna go rebel-huntin',” Graznikh grunted. ”Do we have our hands free when recruitin'?” Záhovar nodded and he frowned, deep in thought. ”Y'know, I think I know someone who might be up for th' task.”  
”That Margzat fellow?” Praktash asked.  
”I was thinkin' o' Sulmurz, actually. But you're right, always good to have some muscle if things go down the drain.”  
  
  
It took them well over a week to track down Margzat. In the meantime, news of what had happened in the Tower spread like wildfire along with ten times as many rumours.  
”You ready?” Graznikh asked Praktash as they headed down the Tower.  
”Yeah... This damn thing itches.” The Uruk had recieved his new armour and kept scratching himself and adjusting it. His new weapon had not yet arrived, so for now he went unarmed.  
”Armour always does when it's new. Don't worry, you'll get used to it.”  
”Almost wish I didn't have to. So... Barracks next, then?”  
”Aye. I can't believe the bastard's been in Lugburz all this time an' never told me. No idea why.”  
”Probably been busy with the reorganisation, same as everyone else,” Praktash said. ”So who is this guy? Anythin' I should know?”  
Graznikh scratched his ear. ”Well, he's an Uruk like you. Big guy, could be half troll if ya don't look at his face. He was Captain of the Trench when I first-”  
”Captain of the _Trench?_ ” Praktash collapsed against a wall.  
”Yeah yeah, get it out now, better than later,” Graznikh said to the laughing Uruk. ”But ya better not laugh in his face, seein' as he's _deeply_ invested in the place. It's a position you can really _dig into_. One might even say it's a place in the _groove_ of things, if ya know what I mean.”  
”Stop..! Can't breathe..!” After a while, Praktash finally managed to stop laughing and get back on his feet. ”Ah shit, I've missed those crappy puns! Poor bastard.”  
”Well, it's not a title he uses in public anymore,” Graznikh chuckled. ”If it's still his.”  
”Seein' as they tend to have to drag the appointed Uruk to his post in chains, he musta fucked up real bad to lose it. Maybe he got promoted?”  
”Could be. We'll know when we find him.”  
  
The barracks weren't exactly enemy territory, but Graznikh fell into his 'I-go-wherever-the-fuck-I-want'-swagger just in case. Praktash had his own version of it, seductive and confident, and whispered ”I got your back” in Graznikh's ear just before they entered. Graznikh wanted to make a dirty comment in reply, but held himself back. They didn't get far before they were stopped by an Uruk who gave Graznikh a brief glance before adressing Praktash as if he was alone in there.  
”What's yer business 'ere?”  
Praktash ignored the Uruk and patiently waited for Graznikh to respond. ”We're lookin' for Captain Margzat. Where is he?”  
”At's krîtar Margzat for ya now.” Graznikh heard a soft ”eep” from behind and caught a glimpse of Praktash's red hair disappearing behind a corner. _The fuck was that about?_ he thought before turning to face Margzat. The giant Uruk gave him a big grin as he approached.  
”Hey Lug-snaga, doin' well?”  
”Shan't complain,” Graznikh replied. ”Krîtar, izzit? Goin' up in the world, are ya?”  
”Not too far,” Margzat said with a shrug. ”Happy to be outta Blog Shakâmb. Did ya get my messages?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Nope. Probably buried in the pile o' work on my master's desk.”  
”Probably,” Margzat chuckled. ”Anyway, I sent ya some reports on yer warg's doin's. He's growin' just fine, the li'l blighter. Soon big enough to ride. Ya should go visit if yer master lets ya, get to know him a li'l better.”  
”I'll see what I can do. Might be able to drop by on the road south. Speakin' of south...”  
”Right, ya wanted to talk to me 'bout it. I got yer message. I'll clear out a room for us, we can speak in private there.”  
”Yeah, just gimme a minute. Gotta find my buddy.”  
Margzat gave Graznikh a confused look as he turned towards the corner behind which Praktash had disappeared. Praktash had obviously been eavesdropping, for when Graznikh rounded the corner he started and took a step back with an embarrassed scowl.  
”That's Margzat?” he mouthed and groaned quietly as Graznikh nodded. ”Well, shit.”  
”What, he's given ya trouble before?” Graznikh asked.  
”No no, it's just...” There was a soft creak of leather and iron as Margzat leaned against the wall right beside him. Praktash stared straight ahead at nothing, looking slightly panicky.  
”Never got around to payin' ya,” Margzat rumbled quietly and held out a small pouch filled with Eye tokens. ”That chafe healed right up. Barely left a scar.”  
”Sorry,” Praktash replied flatly.  
Margzat chuckled at that. ”Wouldn'ta been a scar worth braggin' 'bout. Here, take it Bukrazikh. I don't like bein' indebted.” He pushed the coinpurse into Praktash's hand, then left with a brief nod to Graznikh. Praktash stared at the pouch like it was a giant spider and Graznikh half expected him to drop it, but after a few moments quickly pushed it into some hidden pocket inside his armour with a shrug.  
  
”What was that all about?” Graznikh asked. Praktash shrugged again, trying to look indifferent.  
”I patched him up a couple o' weeks ago. Things... didn't go very well after.”  
Graznikh tensed. ”He beat ya up?”  
”What? No! He just... sorta hit on me. An' I put a knife to his throat an' threw him out.”  
”You _threw_ him out?” Graznikh hissed with a baffled chuckle.  
”Not like that! I just told him to fuck off, an' he did.” Praktash winced. ”Look, maybe it's better if you go on without me. I'll... wait outside, or somethin'.”  
”What, you're gonna ditch me in here? Half the guys look at me as if they wanna know what my liver tastes like!”  
”I'm sure he can keep 'em off ya,” Praktash muttered.  
”You're not goin' anywhere,” Graznikh growled. ”Ya said ya got my back, I ain't lettin' ya back out now.” They stared each other down for a brief while before Praktash looked away.  
”Fine,” he growled.  
There was a ruckus coming from the main hall. Margzat had just finished beating some sense into one of his subordinates as Graznikh and Praktash entered.  
”Bloody useless bastard,” he growled. ”Right, lads! Entertainment's served for the night! Got no fuckin' use for folks who can't follow orders.”  
Graznikh tried to keep a neutral face as the Uruks descended on their victim and made sure to stay well away from the center of things. Getting gangraped by fifty Uruks was not his idea of entertainment, and it was easy to end up on the wrong side of things when spirits were this high.  
”Don't even think about it,” Margzat growled as he came up to them. Graznikh frowned in confusion, but Margzat wasn't looking at him. He turned just in time to see Praktash give the Krîtar a wide-eyed innocent look that made the Uruk commander leer.  
”Did I miss something?” Graznikh asked.  
”Pack mentality,” Margzat explained as he motioned for them to follow. ”When one has a go, they all wanna go. Right, Bukrazikh?” Praktash's only answer was a disdainful snort.  
”I know my boys all too well,” Margzat chuckled.  
”I'm not one o' _yours_ , y'know,” Praktash remarked.  
”Ya could be. Good shoulders. How's the sword arm?”  
”Never held a sword in my life.”  
”Liar... Mace, then. Axe, spear, maul, bow, fuckin' toothpick. I don't care, 's long as ya can kill with it.”  
”Tryin' to steal my Uruk from me, are ya?” Graznikh chuckled.  
” _Your_ Uruk, izzit?” Margzat sneered. Graznikh gave him a smug smirk and a shrug which Praktash mirrored when the Uruk commander glanced at him to confirm that he had heard it right. Graznikh heard him whisper ”I top” as they passed the commander and entered a small room.  
”'Course ya do,” Margzat murmured as he followed. _Not for long if ya continue like this, buddy,_ Graznikh thought, leering to himself. Briefly he wondered if Praktash would ever actually let him do it, but he shook those thoughts from his mind to focus on the task at hand.  
  
”So tell me something,” Graznikh said as they made themselves comfortable. ”Why do none o' the Uruk garrisons I've been in have furniture? Y'all hate chairs or somethin'?”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Nar, we don't mind 'em. The reason's twofold. First; the material's expensive. Wood breaks an' burns, iron's better used for weapons an' stone can't be repaired. They also make great weapons, so too many casualties an' injuries with regular furniture. Strawbags're too soft to hurt anyone if thrown, an' too loose to choke someone if a face ends up underneath one.”  
”An' they make for _amazin'_ pillow fights!” Praktash exclaimed with a dreamy look. As he realised what he had just said and _who_ he had said it in front of, Praktash almost fainted. Margzat exploded with laughter, which didn't improve things. Graznikh groaned inside as Praktash shot the krîtar a look as if he considered eliminating all witnesses.  
”So, what news from the Tower?” Margzat said once he had regained his breath and cleared his throat.  
”Same as usual,” Graznikh replied. ”Insane bloody chaos. Only now the Eye's decided it takes too long for 'em to off each other, so He sped things up a little. An' added a splash o' colour to the carpet an' walls at the same time.”  
Margzat couldn't decide whether that was an insult to his superiors or not. ”An' that means..?”  
”Well, ya probably got the same reports as everyone else. The whole command line's changed. New positions all over the place. Hand, Mouth... I wonder if there's a Foot too somewhere?”  
”An' where does yer master fit in?” Margzat managed to say while struggling not to laugh at the blasphemy. Praktash was wheezing somewhere behind Graznikh.  
”Not sure, t' be honest,” Graznikh replied. ”All I know's that three stayed behind in the Great Hall that night. Lord Záhovar alone walked out. The other two had to be mopped up from the floor, nothin' but sludge left.”  
”Somethin' happened in there,” Praktash added, ”somethin' _big_. He's takin' orders from up Top now, but no one'll breathe a word 'bout it if ya ask 'em.”  
Margzat nodded and Graznikh could see that he was curious. ”Well, the High Officers' business is none of ours,” he said at last.  
”If they didn't make sure it involved the whole bloody country perhaps,” Graznikh snorted. ”Anyway, the line o' command's clear for now an' we got our orders.”  
”Been thinkin' bout that.” Margzat frowned. ”How'd the two o' ya become Lug-snaga, anyway? The High Officers only pick tarks for those positions.”  
”What could they do that an Uruk couldn't do better?” Praktash muttered with a snort.  
”Or an Orc,” Graznikh added. ”We're the fuckin' backbone of this place. Lugburz wouldn't even be standin' if we weren't around. Lord Záhovar knows that. The others don't, or don't care.”  
Margzat grinned slyly. ”An' your master wants to change that?”  
”Can't change the Eye,” Graznikh said. ”But he wants to give us a chance to prove ourselves. He wants the best o' the best, Orc or Uruk doesn't matter.”  
”And to shove it to the other Officers who thinks he's bloody insane for it,” Praktash chuckled. ”Think they'd ever put an Uruk in charge of the army? Forget it. We're just grunts to them. Only useful if there's a sweet-blood givin' directions.”  
”I'm sure you're settin' a fine example for our kind,” Margzat said with a perfectly straight face.  
Praktash shrugged. ”Just doin' what I'm good at.”  
  
There was just the slightest hint of a challenge in his voice, but it was enough to turn the already smouldering tension between them up to full blaze. Praktash straightened up where he sat cross-legged on the floor on Graznikh's left side, while Margzat narrowed his eyes and bared his fangs ever so slightly. To his dismay, Graznikh noticed that the pupils in both Uruks' eyes were wide open. Being stuck in a tiny cavern room with two battle-ready Black Uruks sizing each other up was possibly the least desirable situation Graznikh had ever been in. He'd side with Praktash if the worst came to be, but he didn't think Margzat was the kind of guy to surrender and plead for his life. This would be to the death, and either way it would mean theirs since Margzat's garrison would back their krîtar. _Please buddy,_ please _Praktash! Don't be this stupid!_  
  
Several moments passed during which Graznikh held his breath. Then Margzat let out a trumpeting snort that made him jump where he sat, but Praktash didn't move a finger. Margzat began to chuckle and his eyes returned to normal almost immediately. It took a little longer for Praktash to calm down, but as he did so he shot Graznikh a reassuring glance.  
”Don't worry, I ain't so stupid as to attack a pair o' Lug-snaga. Ye're workin' directly on a High Officer's orders, 'at makes ya higher in rank than me for now. As ya said, command line's clear.” Margzat shot Graznikh a grin. ”Just testin' yer fellow here a bit.”  
”Ain't got no time for fuckin' games,” Praktash said absently while looking sideways at nothing in particular. ”The Officers don't like it when you're late, an' they got worse than lashes an' fists to make it clear for ya.”  
”'Fraid of 'em, are ya?” Margzat leered.  
”You're not, you're a fuckin' idiot,” Praktash growled. ”Keep 'em close, at least you'll see the blow comin'.”  
Graznikh gave his buddy an incredulous look. _Who the fuck did I bring in here, really?_  
Margzat, however, gave him a scrutinising look and nodded. ”Fine. So what's the task an' what izzit lord Záhovar needs of me?”  
”You an' some o' your best. No less than ten, no more than twenty. We're not lookin' for numbers here really, but an elite force. We're gonna root out who an' whatever's interruptin' the supply lines from down south. Not just the grunts but the head too.”  
”Hnh. Got a sniffer?”  
”Got one or two in mind.”  
”An' will lord Záhovar go with us?”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”He's takin' another route at first, we'll meet up in Nurza-Shûk.”  
”Will there be fightin'?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”If I know my Master right, I'm sure there'll be. He's about as bloodthirsty as any of us.”  
”Been a while since I worked directly under a High Officer,” Margzat grinned and gave Praktash a wink that was rewarded with a growl. ”It'll be interestin'.” Then he gave Graznikh a sidelong glance. ”Why'd ya come an ask me like this? Why not just assign me? You know I'd follow orders.”  
”Lord Záhovar doesn't want people who just follows orders,” Graznikh explained. ”He wants people who can think, who can choose when given a choice.”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed. ”So I could say no?”  
”Ya could. We'd leave an' not ask again, an' we wouldn't let ya in if ya change yer mind later. It's now or never.”  
Margzat leaned back, chewing his lower lip as he thought. Then he nodded. ”Count me in.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Good to hear.”  
  
Graznikh and Praktash rose to leave. Margzat asked if they wouldn't want to share some booze before they left, but Graznikh declined since they had other places to go before they were finished for the night. He had just left the room when he heard Praktash let out a battle-roar and spun just in time to see him leap at Margzat. The krîtar had seemingly anticipated the attack because he grabbed Praktash's arms and pushed him backwards, making him lose his balance and tumble to the floor. Then he grabbed the smaller Uruk's chestplate by the back straps and shoved him face first against the corridor wall.  
”Hey!” Graznikh growled at them. A few of the garrison members came running as they heard the fighting but Margzat bellowed at them to stay out of it and keep their distance. Praktash snarled and gasped as Margzat used his weight to press him against the wall so hard that the bones in his ribcage grated.  
The krîtar's growl was like a thunderclap. ”Watch it, Bukrazikh. I don't like backstabbers an' I don't like cowards! Ya wanna fight it out, come at me to my face next time.” He let him go and nodded to Graznikh. ”Don't worry Lug-snaga. I'll pick some trusty lads for the trip. Send a note when ye're ready to move: I'll take care o' the rest.”  
  
”Why the _fuck_ did you do that?” Graznikh asked once they were beyond earshot. ”If he'd pounced ya for real the whole bloody garrison woulda fallen on top of us. We'd've fuckin' _died!_ ”  
”I don't know,” Praktash growled defensively. ”It just... came, I couldn't stop it.”  
Graznikh gave him a worried glance. ”I've never seen ya like this. Does it have something to do with that pack mentality he mentioned?”  
”Maybe,” Praktash replied with an uneasy look. ”It's like... well, bein' 'round other Uruks makes my head foggy. Some things get clearer, others... don't. An' I don't like it, that's why I've steered clear of others before. Got a taste o' freedom when I left Blog Shakâmb. I wanna be _me,_ not just another Uruk in the pack.”  
Graznikh nodded and they continued in silence for a while.  
”So what happened back there just before we left?”  
Praktash winced and rubbed his butt. ”Fuckin' bastard pinched me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akûlhân – ice-moon  
> Mîr graz zêmar – beautiful cold heart  
> Gurb âmbal zâhovar – my sweet jewel (Yes, Záhovar's name means 'jewel'. What can I say? Sauron has an obsession with jewelry, it seemed only fitting)  
> Bukrazikh – clawless (Praktash trims his claws. Why? For... reasons.)
> 
> A note on the military of the Black Land:   
> Captains are Low Officers and the commanders of the stationary garrisons and outposts. They keeps the soldiers in line and deal with night-to-night things. They are in turn under the command of Lieutenants, High Officers who oversee the strongholds and garrisons in a certain area. These areas are Morgai (until recently governed by Agannâlô from the Dushgoi pass), Udûn (governed from Cirith Gorgor by unknown High Officer), Nûrnen (governed from Thaurband by Dachman), Lithlad (governed from the Eastern Guard by unknown High Officer) and Nurza-Shûk (governed from Nargroth by unknown High Officer). Lugburz is an area all its own and therefore has its own Lieutenant. Blog Shakâmb (governed by Gîrakûn) is mainly a center of invention and study and thus not part of the military complex.  
> Then there are the moving troops. They are split into six ranks:  
> 1\. ushtâm (100 000 soldiers) led by a dûrauk, who is always a High Officer  
> 2\. ûrhoth (10 000) led by a dûrbatar, who is always a High Officer  
> 3\. fâhurk (2500) led by a kritauk  
> 4\. nukhûrk (500) led by a krîtar  
> 5\. hûrk (50) led by a drartul  
> 6\. uzhâk (10) led by an ulmukhatâr. This is a temporary rank, commonly used for scouting parties.


	2. Just One More To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There hasn't been enough smut lately. So here, this chapter's almost all Orc-on-Orc smut, and a bit of insight into Praktash's mind. You have been warned.

Záhovar's quarters were still empty when they returned. Graznikh threw himself into one of the armchairs and Praktash went straight for the booze cabinet.  
”So,” Graznikh said with a teasing leer as the Uruk handed him a filled mug. ”You an' Margzat, eh?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”What?”  
”Y'know,” Graznikh purred. ”Judgin' by the way he kept lookin' at ya, I thought he might come at ya right then an' there. Ye're not interested?”   
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”Nar, he might have a pretty arse but he's too bossy. I'm all yours, li'l buddy.”  
”Didn't smell like it.” Graznikh sniffed the air with a teasing grin.  
”Oh, come _on!_ It's not like I'm gonna ditch ya for some Low One who doesn't even know how to chalk his own armour!”  
”Wait, ya think I'm jealous?”  
”Yeah, well I- ...You're not?”  
”'Course not!” Graznikh chuckled. ”Wouldn't dream of it. I'd never stand inbetween you and a good fuck, I thought ya knew that!”  
”Well... no.” Praktash looked a little embarrassed. ”I thought... well, with all the fuss ya make over Záhovar an' all... Thought maybe... Never mind.”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”I'm fussin' over Záhovar 'cause the guys who knows what she is an' wants to fuck her anyway are mostly people who'd rape her an' leave her to bleed out in some back alley. An' tell everyone they met on the road where to find her if they want a go themselves. If anyone ever tries to do that to you I'll be just as hot on their heels.” He put his legs over the armrest and made himself comfortable. ”But I don't mind it if ya go an' play with others. Really, I don't. 'S long as they treat ya right. Same goes for Záhovar, I'm not one for ownership. I know you'll both come back to me after ya get bored with the others. I'm that good.”  
Praktash chuckled at seeing Graznikh's smug grin. ”Ya cocky bastard! Knew I liked ya.”  
Graznikh sighed and gave the bed a longing glance. ”If I wasn't so damn tired...”  
Praktash's grin grew wider. ”You, tired? I'm usually doin' most o' the job anyways.” He leaned against the backrest of the armchair where Graznikh lay. ”Speakin' of jobs... There's somethin' I haven't done to ya in a while.”  
Graznikh let out a wordless protest as Praktash made him drop his mug by grabbing the front of his armour. Then he pushed him up against the wall.  
”Shut up an' enjoy,” Praktash said with a grin as he knelt in front of him and started tugging at his loincloth. Graznikh's mouth formed a happy little ”o” as he understood what the Uruk was planning.  
”You're right,” he grinned. ”This _was_ a while ag-ooh!” Graznikh let out a shameless purr as he felt Praktash's fangs graze the inside of his thigh. Resistance was futile.  
Praktash purred back as he heard Graznikh succumb. He had taken great care to find out exactly how to make his buddy melt. Even so, it had taken him some time to figure out exactly what set him off, and dominance seemed to be a huge thing. It didn't seem to matter whether Graznikh was the one in charge or not, as long as _someone_ lost control. On some plane, Praktash could understand what his buddy saw in Záhovar; she was excellent at the whole 'fear and dominance' thing, though he highly doubted that her teachers had intended for her to use her acquired skills in _this_ particular way. _But then again, she was a student of that bloody witch. Who knows what kind of 'practice sessions' she put her through?_ Praktash quickly shook the thought away before it made him accidentally bite his buddy for real.  
  
Praktash grunted as Graznikh's claws dug into his shoulders, urging him closer. He grabbed his wrists and locked them behind his back. Graznikh gave him a brief look that was both anticipating and fearful as the Uruk playfully snapped his fangs at his dick with a vicious growl. Then he closed his eyes and Praktash heard him whimper as he licked it slowly before he took a deep breath and sucked him in. _That's right li'l buddy. You know what's comin' next. You know how good it feels._ This was a skill Praktash took almost as much pride in as his work as a drug dealer and apothecary. He could hold his breath longer than anyone he knew and had a control over his gag and bite reflexes that most people could only dream of. Before Graznikh's arrival, he had used it along with the vicious and usually lethal raping of unsuspecting guys who happened to walk into the wrong backalley to gain an increasingly disturbing reputation that was as much a shield as a bar to form any kind of lasting relationship with others. There had always been guys who were interested in the first despite the second, guys who were willing to pay the price he asked for such services.   
But Graznikh was _different_ , Praktash would gladly please him without asking for anything in return. And whenever he sucked his buddy off, he made sure to unleash the whole arsenal on the poor guy.   
  
Záhovar snuck in, quiet as a shadow, and gave her snagas an appreciative look before continuing into the bathroom. Graznikh gave her a weak smile before his eyes rolled back as Praktash did _something_ with his throat muscles that made his toes curl. His Uruk buddy was just too darn good with that mouth; more than once Graznikh had had to scream for him to stop in the middle of it because the pleasure was so intense that Graznikh thought he'd go crazy from it. Soon he sunk to the floor with a blissful, exhausted grin. ”Lat zâdûkazur! Don't think I'll be able to stand for a while,” he murmured as he met Praktash's happy eyes.  
”All worked out already? Ya really _were_ tired.”   
”Yeah... sorry 'bout that, buddy.” He glanced over the Uruk's shoulder. ”If ye're really horny... Ya could always play with Záhovar.”  
Praktash shook his head. ”Oh no. No more plashnak for me. Once was enough.”  
”Who's talkin' 'bout plashnak?” Graznikh asked and noticed Záhovar turn into a statue on the other side of the room. ”Females have arses too, y'know.”  
”That is out of the question!” Záhovar snapped.  
”Oh, don't be like that!” Graznikh chirped. ”I know how much ya love watchin' that through me, you should feel how good it is first-hand too! I'm sure Praktash here'd be glad to help ya, with a little... encouragement.” He glanced at Praktash. ”She owes ya, remember? Go get her, buddy! She won't fight... much.”  
Praktash worried his lower lip a little as he thought it over. Then he returned Graznikh's leer and slowly turned towards his prey as he rose. Graznikh felt giddy as he saw the Uruk's pupils widen. Záhovar shot them both an annoyed look. Thanks to Praktash's healing salves and surgery, her throat was healing well but it still pained her to talk or shout.  
”I have no time for this,” she said quietly and picked up a stack of papers. ”Don't you _dare_ touch me!” she hissed as Praktash advanced.  
”And if I do?” he purred. ”If I touch ya in the wrong places, whatever will you do then?”  
Záhovar hissed again, but as the Uruk continued his crouching advance her eyes widened. She lunged for the knife on the desk but something made her gasp and stumble, allowing Praktash to catch her from behind and press her against his chest. With a deep purr he pushed her hair aside and caught her slender neck between his fangs.  
”Come on, lemme see a little too!” Graznikh complained. Praktash chuckled and turned towards him with the perplexed Officer in his arms and teeth.  
”I think I can do this,” Praktash murmured as he let her neck go. ”Yeah, this might be _good_.”  
Záhovar attempted to pull free, then she whimpered as Graznikh shoved the memory of his and Praktash's latest rut towards her. ”This is unfair!” she gasped.  
”No it isn't,” Praktash half-purred, half-growled in her ear as he took both her hands in one of his own and began removing her armour. ”You _owe_ me for that last scare, an' I'm gonna take my pay now.”  
Graznikh rose and helped him undress the wriggling Officer.  
”Up early, are we?” Praktash chuckled.  
”Yeah, I just wanna play the lecher an' watch the two o' ya fuck for once,” he replied. Záhovar gave him a look that could've turned flames into icicles.  
  
Once she was naked, Záhovar began to feel afraid. Praktash laughed as he slapped his huge erection against her rear. She had had him once before, but then she had been ready for it and it had been the regular way. Even so, it had been extraordinarily painful and she had taken a long time to heal. Being mounted in the rear the way he mounted Graznikh... Considering the lack of care he had showed her last time, she was not sure it could be done without serious damage.   
Graznikh purred as he covered her breasts with licks and nibbles. Praktash watched him with an amused expression over Zahovar's shoulder.   
”D'ya like what he's doin'?” he whispered as she let out a little sigh. ”Like this?” He placed a large hand over the breast Graznikh was currently neglecting and rolled the nipple with his thumb. ”Does it feel good? Like when he does it?”   
”It feels different with him,” Záhovar hissed through gritted teeth. ”And I do not want _you_ to do anything like this!”  
”Good,” Praktash purred and licked her ear, tearing a gasp from her. ”The more you don't want this, the more I _do_. So go on; hate me for this!” He snaked his hand in between her legs the way he'd seen Graznikh do, but he had no idea what to do next. It all felt wet and slippery. Suddenly Graznikh's hand was there on top of his own, guiding his fingers right. Záhovar gave him an almost offended look.  
”That's the best you can do? I confess myself disappointed.”  
Praktash growled at her but Graznikh laughed out loud. ”C'mon, I'll show ya a few tricks.”  
At the bedside, Praktash halted. ”Now then, how best to do this...”  
”If you think I will simply lie still and allow you to abuse me like this, you are sorely mistaken!” Záhovar spat and tried to kick his shin.   
Praktash laughed. ”Then we'll simply hafta tie you down!”  
”With these, perhaps?” Graznikh held up several pairs of sturdy leather handcuffs.  
”Of _course_ she's got handcuffs!” Praktash exclaimed. ”At least they're not black with steel studs, that'd just be too common.”  
Graznikh gave him an odd look. ”Why's that?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Just a thought. Let's get this over with, shall we?” He dumped Záhovar onto the bed and helped Graznikh lock her to it with the handcuffs.  
  
Graznikh wondered why Záhovar didn't stop them. She was more than capable of doing so, and everything he felt through the bond told him Záhovar was not at all happy with the situation. But Graznikh wasn't going to call her out on it. The thought of watching his buddy top her was just too good to ruin with questions like that. And she would like it soon enough. _I might be named after a bloody icicle, but I know how to make her melt._   
”There we go,” he purred when she was securely bound, on her back and with her legs forced wide. She said nothing, but the look she gave him could have killed. ”Ye're gonna hate me for this, aren't ya?” he murmured. Her eyes softened a little in reply. ”Not one for words tonight, eh? Why don'tcha gimme lip the way ya do him?”  
”You haven't deserved it yet,” Záhovar said.  
”So I'm more deservin', am I?” Praktash chuckled and savoured her contemptuous look as he played with her jagged ear, slowly brushing each point with a finger. Záhovar broke eye contact and tried to get her quickening breath back under control. ”You really don't wanna like this, do ya?” Praktash murmured, his voice husky.   
Graznikh had crawled down between Záhovar's legs and was resting his head on her thigh while watching them. The Black Uruk was grinning madly as he tweaked and fondled her ears, and every impotent, hateful look she gave him only served to excite him more. Graznikh reached up and did the same with her nipples, and now Záhovar was unable to stay silent. Praktash looked down with a thoughtful expression.  
”I thought those were for feedin' cubs?”  
”Yeah, but they're real sensitive too.”  
”So women get horny when cubs suckle 'em?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”No idea, but they sure do when we do it. Wanna try?” As Praktash gave him a reluctant nod, he crawled back up and placed his mouth on Záhovar's left breast. Then he showed Praktash how to wiggle his tongue over and around the nipple for the best effect. Záhovar soon arched her back and rolled her hips unconsciously as two tongues kneaded her nipples and two pairs of Orc hands roamed freely.  
”So what was the trick you were gonna show me?” Praktash asked after a while. Graznikh beckoned for him to follow as he dove down between her legs. Soon they were each holding a leg, making sure she was spread wide. Praktash couldn't remember ever having been this close to a plashnak, except for when he worked in the breeding pits. But that was different. Less blood now.  
”Here's the fun thing with females,” Graznikh said. ”They make their own lube. No matter if ya wanna have a go in the front or the rear, play with 'em the right way an' they'll get like this.” He fingered her folds and showed Praktash his slippery wet fingers. Záhovar wriggled and let out a small protest as the Uruk tried it.  
”Careful up there,” Graznikh instructed. ”See this li'l nub here? 'At's real sensitive. Ya can make a gal come hard just from fingerin' or lickin' it. Everyone like it different; ya gotta try it out to find how it's supposed to be. Or ask her, if ya know her that well. I doubt the fine lady here will tell us 'bout it though, so we're on our own.” He leered at Záhovar, who hissed back. Then she gasped and Graznikh looked down.   
Praktash had decided to try things out with his tongue instead and was now licking enthusiastically.   
”Just like that!” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Try stuffin' her with a finger or two, there's a spot inside that'll- yeah, right there.” Despite the pain in her throat, Záhovar was moaning loudly, clutching the sheets and staring at the ceiling as if she couldn't believe what was just happening. Praktash soaked the fingers on his other hand and reached further down, fingering and stretching her arse. Záhovar struggled against him, but as Graznikh began playing with her breasts again she gave up. He could feel her tense just before she came, undulating and gasping.  
”Feels good, hmm? I know,” he purred as he admired her face. She looked so much like Whin used to do at times like these, every time he fucked her he could see the sweet little elf fall to corruption all over again. This time it wasn't him, but it didn't matter. It was Praktash, which made it just as good.  
As her spasms died down and Záhovar felt the Uruk's fingers move inside her rear, she reluctantly admitted that Graznikh was right. It felt very different from how it felt in his memories, but it was _good_.   
  
Praktash decided that he had done enough and rose. He turned her over onto her belly, tossed his hair out of his face and pinched his fingers towards Graznikh. _Better to use some lube, just in case._ Graznikh handed him the jar with an almost extatic grin. Praktash gave him an insane leer in return as he coated his cock and then moved to top a High Officer for the first time in his life.   
Graznikh noticed that Záhovar had begun to wince because of the pain in her throat. He handed her a skin with painkiller-spiked ghâshpau that Praktash had prepared especially for her. She took a few quick gulps, then Graznikh put it away and laid down to enjoy the show.  
Záhovar had regained her resolve and hissed as Praktash tried to mount her, squeezing her buttocks tightly together to keep him out. But he had been with unwilling partners before. A few quick jabs with his fingertips into the right places forced her muscles to release and he quickly shoved his thumbs in before she could regain her composure.   
Záhovar expected to be torn to pieces as the head of the Uruk's cock entered her rear. But he didn't slam it in the way he had done that first time; instead he thrust slowly, inching ever deeper until his pubic bone was firmly lodged between her buttocks. There was discomfort as he withdrew, but the more he moved the more it receded, replaced by ever increasing pleasure as he began to hump in earnest.  
”How d'ya like bein' an Uruk's bitch, li'l Officer?” Praktash grunted. He laughed through the gasps as she hissed in fury. ”That's right, hiss at me like a kitten. You're just bein' cute with me now!”  
”If this is the best you can do, I will be forced to raze Blog Shakâmb to the ground for ever spawning y- Aahh!”   
Praktash picked up the pace and bit down hard, effectively silencing her. He shot Graznikh a glance; he was lying on his side, slowly stroking his dick while watching them with the hottest expression Praktash had ever seen. And if he closed his eyes the Officer's moans and squeals could almost be taken for a high-pitched snaga voice... _Yup, this works great!_   
As Praktash came, Graznikh purred and writhed on the bed. Who knew that watching this could be so hot? Their sounds and scents alone almost drove him mad. Záhovar came shortly after with a defiant groan, muffled by the pillow. Praktash picked up the pace again and had to hold her steady as she tried to buck him off.   
”I ain't done with you yet,” he growled in her ear. Hellbent on giving her the ride of her lifetime, he thrust her into another climax, drawing it out with hands and teeth and forcing her to feel his entire length slide in and out of her slowly as he did so. Her furious scream echoed in the bedchamber as she came a second time. One look at Graznikh's dick drove him over the edge as well. He wasn't completely spent, but he didn't want to do permanent damage so he decided to withdraw before she hurt her throat for real. It had begun bleeding a little and her upper back was riddled with deep bite marks.  
  
  
Graznikh gave him a horny purr as he rolled down beside him and Praktash looked down. ”You still hard?” He grinned. ”Want another suck?”  
”Nope,” Graznikh purred. ”I wanna _fuck_!” He crawled over the Uruk to get at Záhovar, but the Officer shook her head.  
”Not me.”  
”Whaddya mean, not you? I'll show ya exactly how much- Gah!!” Graznikh recoiled as the collar turned icy around his neck. He gave her an incredulous stare and tried to leap at her again, with the same result. ”What the fuck Záhovar, you're just gonna leave me like this?!”  
”No,” she hissed in reply with a sly smile. Then she pointed at Praktash.  
”Sorry Ladyship,” Praktash grinned. ”Don't think I can get it up again so soon, not tonight.”  
”You do not have to.”   
Praktash frowned with confusion at first. Then his eyes slowly widened as realisation dawned and he turned to look at Graznikh. Then he spun towards Záhovar with a furious snarl.   
”I ain't gettin' topped by no snaga!!” he roared. Then he snapped his teeth shut as he spotted Graznikh's disappointed grin.   
”Still thinkin' of me as just another snaga, do ya?”  
Praktash swallowed. ”I... No, I just... It's... Um...”   
”It's alright buddy,” Graznikh said with a reassuring nuzzle. ”Ya don't hafta. I ain't gonna force ya. _No,_ ” he growled as he met Záhovar's intent stare.  
”It's not that,” Praktash mumbled. _Does she want him to_ rape _me?!_ ”I've just... never...”  
Graznikh gave him a baffled stare. ”You've _never_ been topped before?!”  
Praktash shook his head.  
”So... the whole 'top or bottom' question that first time, if I'd said top..?”  
”Woulda been a dealbreaker.”  
Graznikh closed his eyes for a moment. ”Well... Good thing I chose right then.” As he opened them, he found that Praktash had buried his face into one of the silken pillows. ”So... ya don't want to.”  
Praktash lifted his head and gave him a frightened glance. ”I don't know, it's just... I've seen the way ya hammer away at her, an'... I-I'm not sure if I could handle that!”  
Graznikh gave him a confused look, then he grinned. ”What, ya think I go berserk while fuckin'?”  
”...Ya don't?”  
”Nar,” Graznikh chuckled. Then he leaned in close and whispered the rest in Praktash's ear. ”Here's my li'l secret; I can't berserk while I'm horny. Surest way to keep me sane: grab my dick.”  
Praktash chuckled despite himself. ”Ya might come to regret that, y'know. If I start fondlin' ya durin' a heated argument, I might be the one gettin' punched. And y'know I'd abuse it if I could.”

”Yeah, I know,” Graznikh purred back and made Praktash gasp by nibbling the sensitive tip of his ear. ”I can be gentle if I wanna. I wouldn't do this to use ya, buddy, I won't go faster or harder than ya can handle.”  
Praktash hid his face in the pillow again while he tried to make up his mind, but not before shooting Záhovar a nasty glance. _Fuckin' bitch, you just wanna see me humiliated,_ he growled inside. _Is this payback 'cause I fucked ya?  
What the _fuck _is wrong with ya?_ Praktash frowned as another voice took over. _This isn't some random snaga, this is_ Graznikh _! The guy you all but bared your bloody heart an' soul to mere months ago. The one you'd die for, remember? How is this any worse? Besides, he's been takin' your cock up his arse for years an' it didn't even bother him. If he can do all that, why not you?  
'Cause he's a snaga,_ his Uruk pride whimpered.  
 _Oh shut_ up! _Anything a snaga can do, an Uruk can do better. You wanted this, you've been dreamin' about this moment for years. If he's not worthy, then who the fuck is? Margzat?_ His pride growled, backed into a corner. _Just bite the pillow an' take it. If you back out now, you'll just prove your own weakness._ There was truly no way out. _This is Graznikh,_ Praktash reminded himself one last time. Even so, something broke inside as he turned his head to meet Graznikh's gaze from the corner of his eye and nodded.   
Graznikh's eyes widened slightly. ”Ya sure?”  
Praktash nodded a little more vigorously. Graznikh leaned over him and at first Praktash thought he was going to go in dry, but he only reached for the lube jar and exchanged a few words with Záhovar that Praktash couldn't hear.  
”Maybe... Maybe I should do that,” he said as Graznikh began coating his clawed fingers with the glistening goo. Graznikh stopped.  
”Think I'll cut ya?” He chuckled a little as Praktash nodded. ”Did ya see any blood when I fingered her earlier? I know how to handle my own claws, buddy.”  
Praktash gave in, but couldn't help but flinch a little as he felt his buddy's hand between his buttocks. His Uruk pride kept hammering him with self-contempt and shame, making it impossible to enjoy the whole thing.  
  
Once Praktash was slick and stretched, Graznikh moved up behind him. The Uruk spread himself wide and hid his embarrassment in the pillow, desperately trying to relax the way he had commanded others to do so many times. He had no idea it could be this hard. _That's right, offer yourself up like a good little snaga,_ his pride growled as he felt Graznikh wedge himself into position. _This is_ Graznikh! _Why can't I just shut up an' enjoy this?_   
”Ya ready?” Graznikh murmured in his ear and Praktash nodded, but inside he felt like he was going to cry at any moment. Graznikh pricked his shoulder with his fangs and purred, then he withdrew and rolled down onto the bed beside him. Praktash stared into the pillow, unsure of what just happened.  
”Wh-... Why'd ya stop?”  
”'Cause I ain't gonna do this alone,” Graznikh said.   
Praktash gave him a confused look. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”You ain't here, buddy. You ain't with me. I told ya, I don't wanna use ya. You're better'n that! If you're not with me every step o' the road, I won't walk it. I'll wait 'til ya catch up. An' if ya don't, well then that's it. It wont happen. I won't force ya, not you, not ever!”  
Praktash searched his buddy's eyes for scorn, ridicule, amusement, any sign that he was mocking or looking down at him, but found nothing. Nothing but the honesty he would've expected if he hadn't been so bloody hung up on his own issues.  
”You're serious,” he whispered.  
”'Course I am. I ain't gonna fuck my buddy over. Well, unless he begs me for it,” he added with a leer and a wink. He held up a hand to stop Záhovar from interrupting. ”So what's the hang-up? Ya don't hafta hide from me, buddy.”  
Praktash took a deep breath. ”It's my damn head, it won't leave me alone,” he whispered. ”Keeps tellin' me how lousy I am for lettin' myself get topped, how real Uruks don't do that... all kinds o' shit that I don't want there but that sticks anyway.” He sighed a little as he felt Graznikh nuzzle his ear.  
”It doesn't make ya better or worse, buddy,” Graznikh murmured. ”Look at me, I never topped anyone. If that stuff were real I'd be at rock bottom, but I ain't. An' those who thinks 'at makes a difference're bloody idiots who'll meet their end by getting their arses handed to 'em by some bagronk snaga with a shovel.”  
Praktash laughed a little. ”Wish I could roll with it the way ya do. Was always impressed by that, how ya can just topple everythin' an' not give a shit.”  
”You can too. Nothing's that black an' white, just take a look outside.”  
Praktash grinned and gave his buddy a fond glance. Then he hesitated a little before speaking again. ”Could ya... um...”   
Graznikh waited patiently.  
”Could ya finger me s'more? Maybe... it'll be easier if...”   
Praktash sighed as Graznikh complied. He forced himself to just lie there and feel, to roll with it the way Graznikh seemed to do at every turn. _He won't do it. Not until I let him. He won't do shit unless I let him._ At that point, Praktash just let himself go, falling into trust as Graznikh's fingers slid inside. _Where'd the claws go?_ he wondered briefly. The more he did so, the better he felt. The better _this_ felt. Praktash's eyes widened slightly as the fingers slowly inched closer to some spot inside that he just _knew_ would be really good. His anticipation grew the closer they got. Closer, closer, beside it, missed it just a little, almost there, almost-   
As the fingers _finally_ hit it, Praktash groaned loudly into the pillow. He heard Graznikh chuckle as the fingers kept teasing him. He reached up to nibble his ear and soon Praktash was squirming on the bed.   
”Let's see how fast a pace ya can take, shall we?” Graznikh purred. He began thrusting his fingers slowly. ”Izzat alright? What about this, ya fine with that? How 'bout this?” He kept increasing the pace until Praktash had to bite the pillow with an extatic grin. Graznikh grinned as he continued.  
”Now this is the slowest I can go if I wanna spunk. D'ya like that? How 'bout a little faster?” He increased the pace even more, faster and faster until Praktash suddenly realised he couldn't take any more.  
”Wait wait wait, stop it! Stop!”   
Graznikh stopped immediately. ”You okay buddy? Izzit the claws?”  
It took a while before Praktash could answer. ”Nar, it's not that. It's just... I was comin', an' I don't wanna finish just yet.” The Uruk gave him a shy glance, and Graznikh could see his pupils were wide and dark. ”Not 'til I feel ya inside, at least.”  
”Ya sure?” Graznikh asked. ”Ya with me now?”   
Praktash nodded into the pillow. There was no shame as he spread himself now, only anticipation and eagerness. As Graznikh entered, he moved so slowly that Praktash grew frustrated. Eventually he bucked up hard and buried Graznikh's dick inside with one swift move. Graznikh collapsed on top of him, gasping.  
”Skai..! Easy buddy, it's my first time like this too!”  
Praktash just chuckled, then he purred as Graznikh began to move.   
  
_Time to pay ya back for that suck earlier,_ Graznikh thought as he started thrusting. Now that he had let everything go, Praktash looked perfectly content where he lay on the soft mattress, humming and purring. Whenever Graznikh hit some sensitive spot he let out little happy gasps. As he picked up the pace, Praktash groaned loudly and clicked his fangs together.  
”Skai, harder!” the Uruk begged. Graznikh was happy to comply and soon his big buddy was writhing underneath him. ”Izzat all you got? You're holdin' back, ya little bastard!”  
Praktash didn't think when he said it, but his breath hitched in his throat as he heard Graznikh's needy growl. Then he steadily increased the pace until Praktash was sure he would literally get fucked out of bed. Now he _did_ bite the pillow and take it like a snaga, whimpering and mewling as that special place inside got pummeled. He opened his mouth to scream that it was too much, but all that came out was a loud yowl. Graznikh wrapped his arms around his waist and dug his toe claws into the mattress for leverage as the Uruk tried to buck him off, and Praktash's mind caved in from debilitating pleasure as he felt his buddy's fangs sink deep into his shoulder. Briefly he turned his head and locked gaze with Záhovar. She looked completely beside herself with need; no doubt Graznikh was giving her a pummeling too, but through the bond. She bucked hard against the hands she had buried between her legs and let out a shrill cry as she climaxed. The next moment Praktash came so hard he blackened out for a brief moment, coming to just in time to get an earful of Graznikh's roar as he spent himself as well.  
  
Afterwards, Praktash couldn't even purr. He was too exhausted and gasped like he had been running for a week. Graznikh lay wrapped against his backside, purring loudly. He looked up as Praktash wheezed a little. ”Hm?”  
”Wh...” Praktash began and had to spit out a mouthful of downy feathers before he could continue. _I don't remember the pillow tearin'. When'd that happen?_ ”Where the _fuck_ did that come from?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Looks like ya survived the avalanche.” Then he yelped as Praktash suddenly sprung to life and pulled him up onto his chest, hugging him tightly and rubbing his blunt Uruk nose against his neck, ear and hair. Graznikh returned it and they nuzzled in silence for a while. Then Praktash caught his lower jaw with his teeth and bit down gently. ”Ever kissed before?”  
”Ya know I have. Did it to Whin a lot, few times with Záhovar.”  
”Not that. I mean a real kiss.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”I'll show ya. Bite back.” Praktash placed his mouth over Graznikh's, but instead of suckling on his lips the way Whindaër used to do he caught Graznikh's fangs with his own. Praktash's fangs were thicker than Graznikh's and placed differently so it was a little awkward at first, but eventually they found a position that worked. He began to feel a little worried as the pressure on his jaw increased, but Praktash did not bite down hard. As Graznikh bit back so that their jaws were locked together, Praktash tugged gently and filled his mouth with his tongue. As Graznikh returned it with his own the Uruk purred softly with closed eyes, giving him a lovesick smile as they let go.  
”That was... good! Fuck, that was _good_!”  
Graznikh grinned and nodded. ”That's an Uruk kiss?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash breathed. ”Never done it before, but I thought... Well, some time's gotta be the first.”  
”Never kissed any o' your Uruk fuckbuddies?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”Nar, didn't trust 'em not to bite.”  
”Wanna try an Elven kiss?” Graznikh chuckled.   
Praktash gave him an uneasy grin. ”Whazzat like?”  
”A little odd, but good. If ya do it with the right person.” Then he leaned in and pressed his thin lips against Praktash's thick ones, suckling and nibbling. But it didn't feel at all like it did with Whin or Záhovar, and after a brief moment he retreated, feeling awkward. ”Sorry... That just felt odd.”  
Praktash nuzzled him again. ”Don't worry. Maybe ya should save it for the ladies. It's a bit too cute; I prefer things a little rougher.”  
  
Graznikh gave his buddy's butt a fond squeeze and moved to get off Praktash's chest so he could hold Záhovar who lay alone at the other edge of the bed. But Praktash stopped him and pulled her close himself. She opened her eyes and gave him a look that filled with mingled surprise and anger.  
”Easy,” the Uruk said. ”I got my revenge. I won't do this to ya again unless ya want me to.”   
Both Záhovar and Graznikh gave him contemplative looks.  
”You'd do that again?” Graznikh asked. ”With her?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Maybe. At least the thing with the tongue, that was actually kinda fun. I'd wager I got a thing or two to learn there to get real good at it.”  
”An' with me..?”  
Praktash's eyes widened and he bit his lip as he nodded vigorously. Graznikh leered at him before turning to Záhovar.  
”An' you? Ye're okay?”  
Záhovar nodded and Praktash offered her his arm. As she snuggled up to him and made herself comfortable, she gave the Uruk the creepiest smile Graznikh had ever seen.  
”Do be careful,” she whispered seductively. ”If this is the 'punishment' that awaits me every time I frighten you, it may begin to happen more often.” Then she laid her head down on the Uruk's shoulder, took Graznikh's hand in hers and fell asleep. Both Orcs stared at her for a moment before looking at each other. Praktash looked like he was going to bolt at any moment.  
”The fuck've I done?!” he whimpered. ”She... I almost... thought I saw the witch there for a moment...” Graznikh had to hold him close for a long while before the Uruk could finally relax enough to sleep.  
  
  
Praktash frowned. He was trying to work on a new experiment in the distillery while wrapping up the last of the stuff he needed for the journey, but kept getting distracted by his own mind. A batch of exotic spices and herbs had just arrived from some obscure trading post far to the northeast and he had been eager to find out what kind of use they might have, but after a few failed attempts he gave up and sat down on a bench, rubbing his temples. Too much had changed in too short a time. Praktash's entire worldview had been shaken to the core, and he had a hard time dealing with it all. Briefly he considered taking to his own drugs to alleviate the distress, but he decided against it.  
  
Uruks were the best of the best, and they knew it. All of them had once been regular Orc cubs that had distinguished themselves, been singled out and made better. Faster, stronger, smarter. Changed to better serve the Eye. It was pounded into them at every step of their rigorous training. Of course the regular Orcs disagreed, but what did they know? That was how the world worked – snaga at the bottom, then regular Orcs, then Uruks and Low Officers. Above them High Officers and the Eye at the top. For all his tough talk about not liking Officers, Praktash had never questioned the doctrine. He had been a decent soldier; not one of the best but not among the worst either. Being a failure as an Uruk was worse than as a regular Orc. The 'lesser' Orcs had a way out by becoming snaga. There was no such thing as an Uruk snaga, because the Uruks were not supposed to be able to fail like that. Too much had already been invested in each and every one of them. Praktash didn't know what happened to those who failed, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know either. Not if it was worse than what he had already been through.  
Graznikh had once complained about being 'dolled up' as he put it. Praktash wished he could tell him how little he knew about being forced into that kind of change, but he didn't dare to. He didn't want to give Záhovar any ideas. Praktash had been a regular soldier once, not much different from other Uruks other than his interest in healing and making booze, when he had caught Gîrakûn's eye. He had lost count of how many times he had turned that moment over in his head to figure out exactly what it was that caused it, where he'd gone wrong when approaching the witch to ask for apprenticeship, but to no avail. When Praktash had landed arse-first on the crude cobblestones of lower Blog Shakâmb after over twenty years in the witch's clutches, he hadn't recognised the sound of his own voice, nor the too-soft skin on his body or the 'sweet' face that stared back at him from an oily puddle of rain water on the ground. Even the feelings inside were wrong; too sensitive, too intense. Both laughter and tears came too fast and for all the wrong reasons. _He_ was wrong. The few that were left of his old garrison didn't recognise him and the new ones wanted nothing to do with the 'sweet-face'. And so he had run off like the coward he now was to Lugburz where Hîsht had found him. The one failed Uruk who got away.  
  
Praktash still felt like he shouldn't be, and he was terrified of the mirrors in Záhovar's quarters because the face that looked back at him every time he passed one of them wasn't his own. But he had made a living in Lugburz and he took pride and comfort in his skill as a healer and drug dealer. No one made fun of your face when you were twisting their arm to set a bone straight or held a knife mere inches from their vital organs. Knowing that he could pop a poison that would kill or debilitate into a requested medicine if rubbed the wrong way also helped. The reputation he'd built kept him safe the rest of the time; few people messed with an Uruk, none did so with one who was well-known for being an insane homicidal rapist.  
The society of Lugburz was as much a maze as its streets, and knowing whose toes to tread and whom to avoid, when and where to push or pull rank was as vital as knowing the many unwritten rules of the street. Little by little he had learned to navigate both. Life had been good, if a little lonely.  
  
Then in came Graznikh. A bloody cave-spawned outsider with skin almost as weird as Praktash's own; with a battle prowess worthy of a seasoned Uruk commander and a completely unbridled attitude to life he openly displayed both the greatest courage and the greatest weakness Praktash had ever seen. And instead of having a target marker painted on his back and getting himself killed in short succession like so many others, he had gone from being a numberless nobody to being the teacher, advisor and right hand of a High Officer, the first Orc ever to do so. A High Officer who turned out to be weaker than some of the snagas Praktash had killed with his cock. And somewhere along the way, he had dragged Praktash along by stealing the Uruk's heart out of his chest and right into his belt pocket.  
  
Praktash's hand went to the collar around his neck. _Lug-snaga._ This was definitely not a title he was proud of, being collared like a pet. Uruks were supposed to be in charge, they followed orders from other Uruks because they were good soldiers and served the Eye, not because they were snaga. The part of him that still nurtured his Uruk pride despised the collar and scoffed at his feelings for Graznikh. Being this dependent on a 'snaga' was plain wrong, he should be above this kind of shit. Even being like this with another Uruk was wrong, because it demanded a kind of trust that didn't exist in the Black Land. Or shouldn't exist. But Praktash needed Graznikh like he needed air to breathe, the thought of losing him in any way felt like simultaneously getting punched in the gut and falling down a bottomless black hole. Having to deal with Záhovar and his own hurt pride was a price he'd gladly pay all over again.  
He dearly wished he could hate the High Officer, but he couldn't. There were things about her that he hated and he was intensely envious of the bond she shared with his buddy, but he couldn't hate _her_ , no matter how he tried. If she hadn't existed, Graznikh would never have come to Lugburz. The two of them would never have met. And that last tumble had been surprisingly good. Her scream of rage even as she came impaled on his cock had been some sweet music indeed, and Praktash found himself wanting a repeat despite the fact that she was a woman. Her 'revenge' had been even sweeter. Praktash had to choke down a giggle at the memory. _When the fuck did I start_ giggling _anyway?! Pits take ya, Graznikh!_  
  
Since he wouldn't get any further with the experiments, he stood and began packing the last things up. When he had told Hîsht that the collar gave him more freedom than ever, he had been completely honest. Praktash was still an Uruk, but he wasn't an _Uruk_ , not a pack member like the rest of his kind, or so he told himself. He had left that life behind along with Blog Shakâmb. Lug-snaga wasn't good, but it was better than what he'd had, even though he despised the word. Praktash turned it over in his head, trying to get used to it like he had many times since it snapped shut along with the collar.   
'Snaga' was a simple word for a complicated concept. Usually translated as 'slave', but according to Záhovar it was far more than that. In the true Black Speech it meant 'someone who serves', which meant that pretty much everyone in the Black Land were snaga. The game of 'who serves whom' was one everyone played, the choice of not playing meant that you had already lost. Get enough blackmail material on the right people and even the lowest of snaga could have a High Officer by the balls. Everyone who served the Eye were snaga, even the High Officers and the Nazgûl. For some reason, it was a comforting thought that even the Top Ones had no escape. They were as trapped as everyone else, and paid a far higher price for failure. Death was not enough, the Nazgûl were proof of that.  
Before entering Záhovar's service, Praktash's only view of Lug-snaga had been the blindfolded servants with sewn mouths, and hearing that Graznikh had become one had almost turned him inside out with fear. But he had since come to realise that 'Lug-snaga' was also the title of the High Officers' personal servants, and that the Lug-snaga of a high-ranking High Officer could be almost as powerful as one of the lowest-ranking High Officers. It would seem the top of Lugburz had as many unwritten rules as the lowest streets.  
 _Lug-snaga._ Graznikh didn't seem to care, but when did he ever? He wore the collar like a crown and seemed to take everything in stride. He was so damn _confident_ all the time! Praktash wished he could do that too; just walk in somewhere, anywhere, and with a growl and a grin make people respect him. Margzat had a bit of that too, but it was to be expected of an Uruk commander. Maybe that was why he and Graznikh hit it off so well, far better than Praktash had with the guy.  
 _Margzat... He would've been a fine catch if Graznikh hadn't been there. Fuck, he's_ still _a fine catch!_ He was the kind of guy Praktash would've gladly given a good long suck and perhaps even bent over for if Graznikh hadn't... _Stop thinkin' of him like he's a bloody doorstop! He told ya it was fine!_  
Yes, Graznikh had said that he didn't mind. The door was pretty much open, all Praktash had to do was step out. _  
  
_ Still, he hesitated. The big guy had turned out to be quite different from what Praktash had imagined. Praktash had become quite spoiled after all the time spent with Graznikh. When it came to tactfulness and respect, Margzat was a fuckin' door to the face in comparison. But when had that ever kept Praktash from a possibly good fuck? _Every bloody night, ever since Graznikh entered the scene._ With a chuckle he realised that what he was mainly worried about was being disappointed, that Margzat would turn out to not be as good a fuck as he looked. But then, with a first fuck like Graznikh, everyone else would be a disappointment. He'd always measure them against him and find them lacking in one way or another. _Ya made real sure I'd come back beggin' for more, didn'tcha? Bloody rascal... And now I'm gonna be travellin' with both of 'em. Ah shit, my arse'll never be the same after this. Nor my tongue, if Záhovar has her way._   
”Well well, aren't _you_ the happy one?”   
Praktash turned with a big grin as he heard Graznikh's voice behind him. ”Hey li'l buddy!”  
”Lookin' forward to th' journey?”  
”Yeah, it'll be fun!”  
Graznikh laughed. ”Sure. Walkin' our feet off 'cross all o' the country, then go on a merry chase 'cross half the south. Ye're gonna hate it a week in, trust me.”  
”Well well, aren't _you_ the happy one?” Praktash chuckled. ”Could be we find 'em after a week an' then take a paid luxury break for three moons. Záhovar sure knows how to party when she's in the mood. 'Sides, I've never been outside Lugburz. Either way, it'll be new.”  
”Right, forgot 'bout that. So, ya ready to head out?”  
Praktash grabbed his backpack. ”As ready as I can be.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Then let's hit the road! The others're waitin' for us already.”


	3. A Change Of Pace

”How's the shoulder?” Graznikh asked as they entered the streets.  
”Better,” Praktash said and lifted his leather shirt a little. Graznikh scowled as he spotted the bite mark. ”It's gone black. Is it supposed to look like that?”  
”Coloured healin' salve,” Praktash said with a little grin. ”I'm gonna carry that mark with pride!”  
Graznikh's grin was contagious. ”The fuck is this? I thought ya were embarrassed 'bout the whole thing! An' coloured healin' salve... That's genius! Why'd ya never tell me o' that before?”  
”I could give ya one next time,” the Uruk purred.  
”I'd like that... Think it works on Elves too?”  
Praktash snorted. "T'would probably just poison 'em."  
Margzat's voice could be heard over the din at the gate well before they had even left it.  
”...An' cut that singin' afore I cut it for ya! If I hear one more word about fuckin' 'Yashaga', your tongue'll be the main ingredient o' the stew tonight!!!” As Graznikh and Praktash approached, he snorted and dropped the Uruk he'd been shaking.  
”Musical dissensions?” Graznikh asked with a grin.  
”You've no fuckin' idea, Lug-snaga” Margzat groaned.  
”Who's Yashaga?”  
”No bloody idea, an' I don't wanna know either. Probably some bagronk snaga with too big a head for his shoulders. The song 'bout him keeps resurfacing every twenty years or so, new lyrics ev'ry time. The only thing they got in common is that it's a fuckin' slur 'gainst the Eye! I'm so sick o' hearin' it I could fall on my shield!”  
”Shouldn't that be your sword?” Praktash asked.  
”No,” Margzat said with a dangerous grin. ”Shield. 'At's how fuckin' sick I am of it.” He paused and gave Praktash a look. ”New armour, eh? Don't get chafes.”  
Praktash bared his fangs without replying. Margzat chuckled as he turned to Graznikh.  
”Fall in line wherever ya want. We'll march at speed to reach the crossroads at Blog Shakâmb, then turn south to Nurza-Shûk.” Then he turned to the Uruks, all ten of them. ”All right, lads! Let's move out!” The entire group took off at a trot and Graznikh cursed under his breath as he ran to catch up.  
”We gonna run all the way to Nurza-Shûk?” he hissed at Praktash who fell in line behind him.  
”Don't worry li'l buddy,” Praktash chirped. ”I'll carry ya when ya get tired!”  
”'When'? Fuck off, I ran for two bloody nights once an' outran a band o' bloody tarks!”  
”What, ya ran _away_ from them?”  
”Tactical retreat, led 'em into an ambush.”  
”Still... ya coulda taken a few down on the way.”  
”Oh shut it! I was a cub, what'd ya expect?”  
”Don't worry, I'm sure they'll catch up with ya eventually.”  
”I didn't _leave_ any to catch up with me!”  
Praktash patted his back and laughed as he leapt out of the way when Graznikh jokingly cursed and swept a clawed hand in his direction.  
  
It felt good to run, even though Praktash did not like the direction in which they were going. He tried to ignore that detail and focused on the present; the sound of falling feet and heavy breaths, the smell of sulphur and dust on the wind, the hazy brown twilight and the road passing underneath. Margzat's voice and the sound of the whip reached his ears now and then as the krîtar urged some slowpoke on. If he closed his eyes, it felt almost like the old days, before the dungeons, before the fear. _Focus,_ he told himself. _You're not one of the pack now._ But even so, he found his feet adjusting to the rhythm.  
He didn't know how long they had been running when he found himself surrounded. Somehow he had ended up in the center of the uzhâk, and Graznikh was nowhere to be seen. As soon as he tried to move to get back out, the surrounding Uruks growled and barked at him to keep his place and stop shoving.  
His neighbour kept eyeing him with a grin. Praktash couldn't tell if it was friendly or not.  
”Bukrazikh, izzit?”  
”Nar,” Praktash snarled.  
”Nar? Name an' number, then.”  
”None o' your bloody business.”  
”Well, I made it my business right now! Name an' number, Bukrazikh!” When he didn't reply, the others began shouting their names and numbers at him.  
”Urkhish, BS ash-mash ulm-krak!”  
”Ghrazagh, BS krith-azg ruk-nam!”  
”Lîrnash, BS ulm-ulm mash-udu!”  
”Mûrnaluzh, BS nam-ruk azg-azg!”  
”Golnauk, BS krith-ash krak-ulm!”  
Praktash growled, but they kept shouting at him and eventually he could hold back anymore. ”Praktash, BS nog-nog udu-ruk! If you're all so bloody curious!”  
”Praktash, eh?” Ghrazagh, the one who had started it, leered. ”Sweet name for a sweet face.” Someone pinched him, but as Praktash spun with a snarl Urkhish shoved him forward.  
”No fuckin' disruptin' the line, Bukrazikh! March on!”  
  
Meanwhile, Graznikh had moved down the line to meet up with Margzat.  
”Hey Lug-snaga,” the krîtar said with a merry grin. ”Keepin' up?”  
”Just fine,” Graznikh replied with a huff. ”Say, I need a few words with Praktash, but they've gone an' locked him up. Can ya give a hand? Ya know they won't listen to me.”  
”Locked up? Where is he?”  
”Middle of the crowd, up near the front.”  
”Not one of mine, eh?” Margzat chuckled and sped up to outrun the uzhâk.  
Praktash was considering his options as Margzat's voice boomed out over the trampling of Uruk feet.  
”Hey, Bukrazikh! Get yer pretty arse out here!” A few snarled commands and licks of the whip cleared enough room to let him out of the crowd.  
”Not one o' the pack, eh?” Margzat grinned as Praktash emerged.  
”Fuck off,” he growled, to which Margzat only chuckled.  
”You okay, buddy?” Graznikh asked as the krîtar left.  
”Yeah,” Praktash replied, but it was an obvious lie. They trudged on in silence.  
  
With the help of ghâshpau, Graznikh kept up with the Uruks despite his shorter legs. He had broken a serious sweat by the time they stopped for a breather, and could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that Praktash was barely winded.  
”You spend all yer time in a bloody storehouse, when did ya have time to exercise?!”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Been ruttin' pretty vigorously lately,” he replied with a seductive leer that made Graznikh's insides tingle. As a few of the other Uruks chuckled he gave them a menacing snarl.  
”Guardin' th' snaga's arse, huh?” Lîrnash chuckled. ”Just as well. Doubt 'e could take more'n one afore he breaks.”  
”That snaga's got higher rank than you,” Praktash snarled.  
”'At snaga ain't no Uruk!” Lîrnash bellowed in his face.  
The fight was on so fast that only Graznikh's well-honed reflexes as a warg rider got him out of the way. Briefly he wondered whether he should intervene, but Margzat saved him the trouble.  
”Break 'em up!!” he bellowed and grabbed the backstrap on Praktash's armour and tore him away so hard that he rolled twice before lying still. The other Uruk got worse; Graznikh winced at the howls as the thick rawhide whip tore into him.  
”Hey buddy,” he said quietly as he knelt by Praktash's side. He was bleeding from hitting his head on a rock and had several deep gashes on his unprotected upper arms and legs from Lîrnash's claws. Praktash gave him a dazed look.  
”Hey,” he replied and flashed a grin.  
”You okay?”  
”Yeah... Don't worry buddy, I'll look after ya.” He was a little wobbly when he stood, but declined Graznikh's steadying hand. Margzat came up to them.  
”Keep yer bukrazikh hands to yerself next time,” he growled into Praktash's face.  
”I didn't do shit,” Praktash snarled back. ”He threatened my buddy!”  
”I don't fuckin' care who started it,” Margzat replied with equal ferocity. ”Ya wanna be Lug-snaga, then _be_ one! You ain't one o' mine, so stay the fuck away from the uzhâk from now on!”  
Praktash was still growling as the krîtar turned and left, and Graznikh could smell his intense disappointment. _That pack sense sure is strong,_ he thought. _I hope I don't lose him to it._  
”You're no snaga,” Praktash hissed to him as they took off again. Now they ran beside the uzhâk instead of in it.  
”'Course I'm not, I'm too awesome,” Graznikh replied with a grin. ”Don't worry buddy, I'm a big boy. I can take a bit o' badmouthin'.”  
”I don't like it when they call ya that,” Praktash snarled.  
”Don't bait 'em, buddy. I'll call 'em out on it once I know I won't get ganged up on.”  
”'Bait'?!” Praktash snarled.  
”Hey, don't get pissed at me now,” Graznikh said. ”I ain't done nothin'.”  
”Right,” Praktash said a little calmer. ”I'm not. It's just...”  
”I don't like it any more'n you do, buddy. If ya ever wanna... I don't know, talk 'bout it or whatever, I'm right here. I'll listen, ya know that don'tcha?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash replied, and now he smiled a little.  
  
Ghrazagh and Lîrnash sought him out the moment they stopped again.  
”So, Praktash izzit?” Lîrnash said with a wicked grin. ”Ya really from Blog Shakâmb?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash said. ”But I got relocated to Lugburz early on. What of it?”  
”Ya don't look like a soldier,” Ghrazagh mused. ”Too pretty. Coulda been a popular opa-snaga with a face like 'at.”  
”Heard it said ye're a drugdealer,” Lîrnash added.  
”Don't tell me you've never heard o' me,” Praktash muttered.  
”Oh yeah. I heard of a 'what's-'is-face' who can't even carry a weapon worth his hide an' hides behind a snaga.”  
”Who d'ya think makes the ghâshpau ya lot keeps downin'?”  
”This swill?” Ghrazagh laughed. ”The fuck are you, a bloody juice peddler?”  
”The fuck is your problem with me?” Praktash growled.  
”Ya wanna know?” Ghrazagh growled back.  
”The problem's about givin' us Uruks a bad rep,” Lîrnash growled as he stepped closer. Praktash could feel his sight refocusing as they began pacing each other.  
”Who's givin' bad rep?” Graznikh asked as he returned from picking up rations. The three Uruks ignored him. _Right. I've had enough of this Uruk bullshit._  
He quietly placed the rations into his pack. Then he charged without a sound, kicking both Ghrazagh and Lîrnash in the face before rolling past the surprised Praktash.  
”Ya fuckin' snaga!” Ghrazagh roared as he turned to face the new threat. Lîrnash shook his head and snorted blood out of his broken nose. Then he yelped and crashed to the ground as Praktash's foot connected with his crotch.  
”Oh, that's just fuckin' low, Lug-snaga,” Margzat's deep voice purred in his ear. Praktash jumped in surprise and the krîtar laughed.  
”Don't mind goin' low,” Praktash retorted with a lopsided sneer. ”I like to play dirty.”  
”'Course ya do, Bukrazikh.” Margzat leered and gave him a seductive little wink before turning to watch the fight between Ghrazagh and Graznikh. Praktash felt like he had hit his head on another rock. _Is he hittin' on me, or just tryin' to piss me off again? And why the fuck does he have to be so bloody good-lookin'?!_  
  
The uzhâk were all cheering on their packmate, but the Uruk stood no chance. Graznikh refrained from hitting Ghrazagh to avoid provoking the others, choosing instead to leap and dodge the attacks without a word. He laughed as Ghrazagh roared and tried to catch him without success. Eventually Margzat stepped in.  
”That's enough,” he rumbled as he grabbed the furious Ghrazagh by the backstrap and backhanded him into submission. Then he turned to the uzhâk. ”No more pickin' fights with the Lug-snaga! ”You'll be gettin' all the fightin' ya can dream of once we reach the front. No need to do it here; save it for the tarks!”  
Soon, Graznikh found himself wishing they would stop for the night. His legs threatened to give out underneath him with every step and even the ghâshpau didn't help to hold exhaustion at bay anymore. More than once, Praktash had to catch him and lift him to his feet as he stumbled and eventually the Uruk picked him up despite his protests. Praktash was sweating and breathing heavily now but had far more energy than Graznikh. After some cursing, Graznikh reluctantly accepted a piggyback the last part of the way.  
”What the fuck're you Uruks made of?” Graznikh muttered as he hooked his legs into Praktash's belt so that the Uruk had his hands free. ”Záhovar told me it's a hundred bloody _miles_ between Lugburz and Blog Shakâmb! An' you're gonna run the whole way, aren't ya?”  
”Plan on it,” Margzat grunted as he came up beside them.  
”I miss my warg,” Graznikh mumbled into Praktash's neck.  
  
When Graznikh woke up, they had reached Blog Shakâmb. Praktash kept his eyes nailed to the ground and refused to look at the looming fortress in the distance. Graznikh felt sorry for him, but was also excited about meeting his new warg. _Soon I might be a rider again. I hope he likes me._  
Margzat stoically suffered a barrage of jeers from his subordinates as they moved into the Trench. There they were given temporary quarters in a cave used for the moving troops.  
”Rest for the night,” the krîtar commanded. ”Get in yer bedrolls afore I nail ya to 'em!” There was a lot of snarling and playfighting that occasionally turned to real fighting and got broken up by the krîtar's whip and fists before calm settled. Graznikh noticed many of the Uruks snuggling up to each other, some in big piles, but Margzat lay alone. Praktash maneuvered his little buddy into spooning position, but Graznikh could feel that he was tense.  
”I'm closer to that bloody place than I've been since I left it,” he whispered when Graznikh mentioned it. ”I'm fuckin' _scared_!”  
”Yeah, I wish Záhovar was here,” Graznikh whispered back. ”Sh- um, 'he' said he was goin' here.”  
”Here?”  
”Yeah, he's goin' inside. That's why he didn't take us.”  
”Skai... I hope he'll make it out.”  
Graznikh gave him a concerned glance. ”Ya think they'd... what, attack a Top One?”  
”Don't know,” Praktash whispered. ”But that place's got ways of fuckin' with your mind no matter who or what you are.” The sound of a cantering horse was briefly heard outside before calm settled once more. Even so, it took a long time before they finally fell asleep.  
  
  
Záhovar slowed her horse down a little as the fortress of Blog Shakâmb came into view through the brown fog. Her armour was a herald shouting 'High Officer' ahead of her and none stood in her way as she cantered through the Trench and up onto the high plateau in front of the fortress. This was where her old tutor reigned supreme; after the Dark Lord left the 'Blood Cliff' in her hands, Gîrakûn had reshaped it into a center of invention and dark sorcery, harnessing the place's latent tumultuous energies and turning them into weapons of war both living and dead.  
The eerie ghostlight shining from the walls meant that no torches were needed in the half-covered streets. There were more tarks here than in Lugburz, mainly sorcerers and scholars come to study and help in the war effort. There were also Black Uruks. Seemingly from nowhere, four of them joined her as she trotted in through the main gate and formed an honour guard, shoving those who were too slow out of the way as Záhovar made her way up to the inner fortress. Gîrakûn had deigned to come out and meet her by the entrance.  
”So you survived the gauntlet,” she said as Záhovar approached her. ”How kind of you to visit me. You know I could have sent the items you requested to Lugburz once they arrived.”  
”It would have arrived too late, I fear,” Záhovar said with a small bow. ”I was heading in this direction in any case; it was no detour.” Gîrakûn gave her an evaluating look, then she smiled.  
”Come. Let us go to my quarters, we can speak more freely there.”  
Unlike Lugburz, which seemed to have been built upon a giant anthill, Blog Shakâmb had a rather straightforward layout. It did not take long to reach Gîrakûn's quarters, located down in the bowels of the fortress.  
”Why choose this place, so far down?” Záhovar asked as Gîrakûn beckoned for her to enter.  
”Oh, it is quieter here,” the old woman explained. ”And the stone here does not echo like the upper levels. Screams are easier contained. Kaelun!” she called, and Záhovar spotted something move in a corner of the large hall. A tall Uruk boy, seemingly adolescent and extraordinarily handsome, approached and bowed before Gîrakûn with an adoring expression. He had dark grey skin, amber eyes and black hair and wore nothing but a black silk loincloth.  
”Do fetch us some refreshments, there's a good lad,” Gîrakûn said fondly. Záhovar had a better look at the boy's face as he turned to leave and felt a chill run down her spine. He looked like a younger version of Praktash, without the piercings and tattoos. _But the Black Uruks all come out of the pits fully grown; how is this possible?_  
Gîrakûn smiled as she followed Záhovar's gaze. ”An experiment of mine, one of the more successful ones. Do you like it? I could be convinced to lend it to you for a night or two, if you wish. It is rather skilled.”  
”I thank you for the offer,” Záhovar said, ”but my tastes lie elsewhere.”  
”Yes, I do seem to recall that young Orc that seemed so very devoted to you. Is it still with you?”  
”He is.”  
”And is it... satisfactory? You could always have it sent to me if you wish to have it corrected.”  
”You are too kind.”  
Gîrakûn smiled. ”Our Master rewarded me handsomely for tutoring you, it is no more than right that I give a little something back. I have not been able to find any suitable subjects for my personal experiments of late, and things are getting a little... dull. If you do not wish your current snaga altered, I could always make a new one and have it sent to you.”  
”Your offer is... tempting, but I am afraid I must decline. I simply do not have the time to indulge at the moment. Duty first.”  
”Always,” Gîrakûn agreed. She led the way into a small library with comfortable armchairs. The Uruk boy returned with a tray filled with rosy mead and various delicacies, and Gîrakûn motioned for him to serve Záhovar first. As he approached, Záhovar noticed that he was slightly shorter than Praktash. He kept his eyes fixed on the plate at first, but as she looked it over and chose a small biscuit he slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers with a seductive little smile. As she took a bite, his lips parted slightly and he sighed as if that little act excited him greatly. Záhovar gave him an annoyed look.  
”Kaelun,” Gîrakûn scolded gently. ”Do not bother our guest. Place the tray on the table and come here.” Kaelun did as commanded, then he knelt at Gîrakûn's feet with graceful movements. He placed his head in her lap and closed his eyes with a content purr as she stroked his hair. But every now and then he looked up at Záhovar with depraved hunger.  
”What did you do to make him so... compliant?” Záhovar asked.  
Gîrakûn gave her pet a fond look. ”Do you remember what I taught you about mind domination?”  
Záhovar nodded.  
”Black Uruks are highly susceptible to it, as you well know; a trait placed in them since the early days, when we still experimented with their basic mental layout. I have since been working on methods to refine the process and make them more easily managed. Kaelun is something of a byproduct, but a fine one if I may say so myself. It is under a domination spell based on lust, and has taken to it very well. There are some side effects, of course, but nothing too adverse to interfere with its purpose. It is a quick learner and _very_ devoted to pleasing... in _any_ way.”  
The boy suddenly left Gîrakûn's side and crawled on all fours over to Záhovar, hugging her knees and placing a hand on her upper thigh.  
”Let me worship you,” he whispered breathlessly. ”Let me please you; I know how!”  
Gîrakûn laughed at her former student's mortified look. ”Oh, how delightful! I do believe it likes you.”  
Looking into Kaelun's pleading eyes, Záhovar suddenly found herself wishing she was a hundred leagues from Blog Shakâmb, at the very least. It took all her self-control not to crush the glass in her hand. He looked too much like Praktash, and the thought of him making reality of the lecherous promise in those amber eyes made her insides squirm, and not in a good way.  
  
Záhovar did not know whether it was day or night outside, but time passed in relative peace. Gîrakûn and she talked about old memories, the witch's experiments, her journey to Khand and the events thereafter. Gîrakûn was fascinated by Záhovar's account of how Jí Indûr had been turned and wanted a detailed description of the event. They also went over Záhovar's new position, of which Gîrakûn clearly knew more than she would tell. The Dark Lord had not given Záhovar any details about what exactly His 'Shadow' was supposed to do apart from rooting out the supply disruptions, and neither she nor Gîrakûn were sure whether that meant that her hands were tied or free.  
Kaelun kept behaving like a very affectionate household pet, fetching things for Gîrakûn whenever asked or meekly begging for attention from them both. As Záhovar reluctantly scratched him behind the ear he seemed to have some kind of break down from the pleasurable experience and lay whimpering with his head in her lap until Gîrakûn eventually told him off.  
The large bedchamber that had been prepared for her were located near the entrance to Gîrakûn's quarters. The floor was tiled in black and red and there was a large copper wash basin in one corner and a small table with chairs in another. There was a thick soft carpet on the floor and in an alcove with black and silver curtains in front was a bed so large that Záhovar, Graznikh and Praktash would have fitted into it with ease. For some reason the soft mattress covered even the walls of the alcove. As she removed her armour she wondered if something similar could be installed in her own quarters once the three of them returned to Lugburz.  
The moment she fell asleep, she was assaulted by strange dreams. Graznikh and Praktash featured in many of them, as did Kaelun, krîtar Margzat, Jí Indûr and, for some reason, Agannâlô. All of them had amber eyes. Some of the activities were familiar to her; Graznikh and Praktash had entertained her in such ways many times, but others were either so alien or so degrading that her mind tried to recoil from them without success. Some part of her knew that these were not her own dreams but every time she jerked awake, shuddering and gasping, something lulled her back into the unnatural sleep almost immediately, only to assault her with new dreams. Soon the sheets between her legs were completely soaked.  
Later on, Záhovar woke up for real as the blanket was lifted and a warm body pressed against hers. As she opened her eyes she stared into Kaelun's beautiful amber ones. There was an insane feral hunger in them and his breath came in short, hard gasps that were barely silenced as he covered her mouth with his own and forced her legs apart.  
”Ye're so beautiful,” he rasped in her mouth as he kissed her, holding her hips in a vice-like grip so that she could not struggle as he penetrated her. ”I wanna worship ya. My Ladyship said I could!” As he began to thrust hard, Záhovar sensed the black sorcery pounding through his veins as the mind domination spell slowly threaded its way through her mind. She desperately fought back on both fronts, but Kaelun was incredibly strong and did everything in his power to distract her and break her resolve. He bit and licked her neck and shoulders, his fingers wandered over every sensitive spot and he altered the pace and angle of his thrusts over and over to throw her off balance and make her submit. Záhovar reached through the bond and took hold of Graznikh's consciousness, silently begging him to focus and lend her his strength. She could feel his distress echo through the bond as she leeched his resolve.  
  
They had just moved out of the Trench and onto the Nargoth Road that would hopefully take them safely through Kirithgal's inhospitable plain when Graznikh collapsed with a howl. Praktash caught him and kept him from hitting his head as he began cramping.  
”Graz, buddy? What the fuck..?”  
Graznikh was in agony and ecstasy at the same time. He could feel Záhovar shred his sanity to pieces as she invaded him with fear and mind-boggling lust. An alien presence was fighting with the High Officer for control and the bond was like having molten steel poured right into his chest cavity. He could hear Praktash shout his name from far away, but he couldn't focus on anything.  
”GRAZNIKH!!!” Praktash roared in his buddy's screaming face. ”Fuck, help me!” he shouted at the shocked Margzat as another cramping fit sent Graznikh's body into violent spasms and almost threw him off. As the krîtar grabbed his legs, Praktash held his shoulders steady and continued calling into his ear. Graznikh eventually resurfaced, staring at him in panic and groaning loudly. The leather-wrapped bone that Praktash had managed to shove in between his teeth as he began thrashing almost broke as he bit down hard.  
”What's goin' on?” Praktash asked him.  
”Záhovar!” Graznikh howled as another tremor ran through him.  
”What does he want?”  
”I dunno what the fuck is goin' on!” came the wailing reply.  
”Doesn't matter,” Praktash growled. ”Help him! Focus, don't stay here! Be with him, he needs ya now!”  
Graznikh blinked, then his eyes rolled back as he fell into some kind of trance. His body tensed up but he stopped cramping.  
”What the fuck..?” Margzat breathed, incomprehension and fear vying for dominance in his face.  
”Long story,” Praktash replied, wiping sweat from his brow. ”It's better if he tells ya. If he comes back... Skai!”  
  
As Graznikh focused on her and began giving her of his strength willingly, Záhovar began to force the spell back. It was as if she was hanging on the edge of a chasm; instead of desperately tearing her way up his leg as he clung to the edge, he grabbed her hand and planted his feet on the edge, helping her climb. But even so, the cliff seemed to crumble underneath her feet and the darkness pulled at her consciousness, whispering of depravities and of letting go.  
Meanwhile, she physically succumbed to Kaelun's treatment. She gasped as she felt her body gear up for an intense orgasm. Kaelun obviously felt it too because he became even more frantic. He had flipped her over and was driving his cock into her from behind at just the right angle with punishing force. His fangs were on her neck, holding her steady; two of his fingers were in her rear and the other hand kneaded her most sensitive spot with insistent movements. Not only that; when he growled against her neck, he sounded _exactly_ like Praktash. _She had this planned!_ shot through her head as everything inside her surged before the plunge. She moaned into the pillow as the first wave hit her, but it didn't stop there. The climaxes hit her like whiplashes; one, two, three. Záhovar screamed for help, pleaded for mercy, begged for the Eye to see her, to save her, to do _anything_. But there was no answer and she slowly felt her will slip, as did her grip on the bond. At some point, Kaelun had faltered and withdrawn, but it did not matter as the spell he had carried was already taking its intended course. At the moment of crisis there was one last desperate push of will from Graznikh, then his presence winked out. But it was enough; the spell shattered like a crystal glass against a stone wall, and Záhovar could finally allow herself to pass out.  
As she came to, Kaelun was lying beside her looking absolutely terror-struck, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
”Please kill me,” he whispered through gritted teeth. ” _Please!_ I don't wanna stay here, I don't wanna do this!”  
Záhovar looked at the boy, trying to comprehend this sudden change. ”Why not? You are her snaga.”  
”You don't understand, she takes everythin'! I've nothin' left! I don't wanna be an opa-snaga! Please _hurry,_ 'fore she wakes up! I wanna die while I'm _me!”_ He began to cry even harder.  
Záhovar felt broken. ”Why not take your own life?”  
”I _can't_! Can't even pick up a fuckin' butterknife, hurts too much!”  
”You have a brother,” Záhovar said as she sat up. ”He is with me, but not here. I will return, and I will free you.”  
”I'll never be free,” Kaelun whimpered. Then his eyes filled with panic and began to search the room. ”She's wakin'..! Please, _kill me_!”  
”I cannot do that. But I _will_ free you.”  
”Promise,” Kaelun whimpered. As Záhovar nodded, all hope was extinguished in his eyes. He stopped sobbing and simply lay there, waiting for the inevitable. He looked so much like Praktash in his hopelessness that Záhovar felt... odd.  
  
She could see the mind control take hold. The seductive hunger slowly returned to Kaelun's eyes and he let out a contented sigh before he looked up at her. Then he suddenly began licking her thigh, ever closer to the center. Záhovar pushed him away, but as his movements became increasingly more insistent she changed her tactic and punched him hard in the gut. He doubled over without a sound and lay still.  
Záhovar took the time to make use of the wash basin, carefully cleaning off the night's residues. While she was busy dressing, Kaelun sneaked up behind her and wrapped her gently in his arms before nibbling her bruised neck and caressing her breasts.  
”My Ladyship said I could,” he whined after Záhovar's heel had connected with his crotch.  
”I am not your 'Ladyship' and I say you _will not_.” She hissed as she hurried up with donning her armour. As she moved to open the door he pounced her again. Unable to touch anything through the armour, he began to lick her ear. Záhovar kicked his legs out from under him with a wraithlike hiss and clawed her way out with the lust-crazed Uruk wrapped around her leg.  
  
Gîrakûn was waiting for her as she left the bedroom. At seeing her disheveled state, the old witch gave her a knowing little smile. ”I told you it was a skilled one.”  
Záhovar snarled at her and fought to disentangle her unwanted giggling baggage from her leg.  
”I must say, I am rather impressed,” Gîrakûn continued, unphased. ”Not many would have been able to not only detect but also resist a spell like that, especially considering the distraction.”  
”Be more discreet the next time,” Záhovar hissed, ”because if I _detect_ anything like this again, I will _kill_ you!”  
Gîrakûn's eyes grew hard. ”Did you think that your trials were over, girl? They have only just begun. You may be the Dark Lord's Shadow, but that also means that you are not within His sight. You are alone, and if you cannot overcome what lies ahead on your own, no one will help you. If Kaelun had not failed,” there was a terrified gasp from the young Uruk at those words, ”you would not have been able to resist. Consider this a taste of what you may face. Not all manipulation is as obvious as this.”  
”And if I had failed?” Záhovar spat. ”What then would you have done?”  
Gîrakûn took a moment before she answered. ”I would have set you free, eventually. Perhaps after... indulging a little.” She gave Kaelun a telling glance and the young Uruk immediately began groaning with need. ”I would not dream of interfering with our Master's plans. You, however, may not get more chances. You gave Him a promise which you have yet to fullfill. Make sure that you do. Your position is precarious enough as it is. Stop that!” The last was not aimed at Zahovar. Gîrakûn snapped her fingers and Kaelun, who had been trying to eat his way through the crotch in Záhovar's trousers, leapt to his feet and ran into his corner. Gîrakûn beckoned for Zahovar to follow her and strode into the dining room, where breakfast was served.  
”But other than that little test, did you enjoy the night?”  
”My snaga may hade died because of your 'little test'!”  
”Then I will give you a replacement. Perhaps Kaelun? It _is_ rather skilled.”  
”He is irreplaceable!” Záhovar snarled.  
”Do not be silly, girl. No snaga is irreplaceable. They are _expendable._ That is why they are snaga.” Gîrakûn gave her a stern look. ”You are a High Officer, Záhovar. Do not forget that. Holding your snaga too close is not a wise thing to do. High Officers and snaga do not mingle, unless it is in a proper setting, as master and slave. Choosing snaga over your kin will _make_ you a snaga. Is that what you want?”  
”No,” Záhovar replied. ”But what keeps Orcs and Uruks from becoming High Officers, in truth? They can be as cruel and cunning as any Man.”  
Gîrakûn sighed. ”Did we not go over this during your schooling? Have you already forgot? The world is set in a certain order, and it is based on strength, of mind, spirit, and body. The Orcs are chaotic and irregular because they are flawed, just as the wild Men and Elves in the West. They cannot serve and follow orders properly unless directly controlled, nor can they lead anything larger than a raiding band. Anything larger than that will eventually turn to chaos. That is why the Black Uruks were created; to form a proper, disciplined army.”  
”Have they ever been given a chance?”  
”Do not be silly. If our Master were not here, this entire realm would erupt in a widespread civil war within weeks. That should tell you how fit the Orcs are to govern anything more complex than a cave.”  
”Of course, how silly of me. There is no infighting or civil wars among Men.”  
Gîrakûn's eyes narrowed. ”Do be careful, girl. It would seem your fraternising has already rubbed off on you. That tongue could get you into serious trouble.” They stared at each other for a while. Záhovar knew she could not defeat Gîrakûn in an open battle, at least not yet. After a while, she nodded and looked away, and the witch gave her an approving smile.  
”Good. Then that is settled. The goods you requested will arrive in a few days' time. Take that time to think about your past choices and the road ahead. I will leave Kaelun as your personal attendant; perhaps you will learn a thing or two about how a proper snaga should behave.”  
  
It took several long tolls for Graznikh to wake up, tolls during which Praktash never left his buddy's side. The moment the pale Orc's eyes snapped open, he was furious.  
”I'm gonna fistfuck that bloody witch's arse with her own fuckin' ovaries!!” he roared at the top of his lungs as he leapt to his feet. Then he doubled over as his stomach turned inside out. Praktash held his head as he collapsed, coughing and heaving.  
”'At's a High Officer ye're insultin' there!” Margzat growled.  
”I don't fuckin' care!” Graznikh growled back. ”I'm Lug-snaga, I got privileges! An' she tried to fuckin' mind-control my master an' had her snagas rape 'er, that makes it fuckin' personal!”  
Margzat continued to shout at him despite Praktash's roar for him to shut the fuck up and Graznikh hit berserker mode. It took all of Praktash's strength to keep him from killing the krîtar. After downing him with a hard punch and tying him up with a sturdy rope, Praktash sat down with a sigh and hid his face in his hands. ”Skai...”  
Margzat squatted beside him. ”You owe me an explanation, Lug-snaga.”  
”I don't owe ya anythin'. Besides, it's not my place to say.”  
”'At doesn't really fuckin' matter now, does it? You want me to take my lads an' go?”  
”Ya can't back out, ya don't have that right. Záhovar'll hunt ya down if ya do, if the Eye doesn't find ya first.”  
”So I'm to serve an' shut up, izzat it? To two crazy Lug-snaga who can't even get a night's march from Lugburz afore shit start sprayin' around 'em?”  
Praktash grunted. Then he removed his hands. ”Fine.” He shifted a little and took a deep breath.  
”Graznikh's more'n just Lug-snaga. He an' lord Záhovar, they got a bond of sorts. I don't know all the details, only that the Eye made it for 'em. But the lord can read his thoughts, feel what he feels... Not see an' hear through him, but close enough. Same goes the other way, though the lord can shut him out if he wants to. Graznikh can't. An' they can... lend strength to each other, like if the lord gets into a tough fight 'gainst another Officer, he can reach into Graznikh an' add his will to his own. That's what happened back there I think. That's why Graznikh had that fit. Ain't anythin' to do when it happens, just wait. But he usually goes a li'l crazy when he snaps outta it, so best not to piss him off right then. If ya do, well...” Praktash glanced at his unconscious buddy. ”He berserks sure as anythin' if ya do.”  
Margzat shuddered. ”Knew the Officers were queer, but this...”  
”Hey, lord Záhovar's not queer!” Praktash snarled. Then he calmed down. ”Well, a li'l maybe. But that bond's real useful, for both of 'em.” He swallowed hard. ”Whatever happened back there... If Graznikh hadn't been there, hadn't helped him... I don't think he woulda made it out.”  
”Ya care what happens to an Officer?”  
”I care what happens to this one.”  
”Why?”  
Praktash took another deep breath and met Margzat's amused eyes with a defiant snort. Once he began speaking, the words came surprisingly easy.  
”Ya think this was forced upon me?” he said as he tugged the collar. ”Ya think lord Záhovar just sauntered in one night, told me to don a collar an' follow? Nar. I chose this. He gave me that choice, made the effort to win my respect. Wouldn'ta done it for anyone else.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Ye're a queer one too, Bukrazikh.” With that, he stood and left.  
”I got a name, y'know!” Praktash called after him.  
The krîtar gave him an obnoxiously smug grin. ”Not yet, ya ain't.”  
Praktash growled and grabbed a rock, contemplating whether or not to throw it after him. But Graznikh was still out cold and he was alone, so he didn't. Hoping that his berserking buddy's blatant misgendering had passed without notice, Praktash rolled out a sleeping mat and placed him there so he wouldn't have to lie on the ground. Then he waited.  
When Graznikh came to again he wanted to turn back, but Margzat refused. The orders were clear; go to Nurza-Shûk and wait. He wasn't going to break order, not even to help the High Officer that gave it. After some fuming, Graznikh had to cave in. He couldn't face Blog Shakâmb alone and Praktash refused to accompany him, so he jogged in silence beside Praktash. Praktash could see the worry and distress in his little buddy's eyes, and he felt sorry for him. Záhovar was stuck in Blog Shakâmb, the place of all nightmares, and Praktash had to struggle to keep his vivid imagination from spinning new ones from what his buddy must feel through the bond. Once they stopped for the next breather, both Lug-snagas snuck out of sight from the Uruks to cling desperately to each other for mutual comfort and support until Margzat's deep voice called them to move again.  
  
  
Záhovar found herself wishing that Graznikh was there, despite the danger that would pose. He would no doubt find a way to get her out of this golden cage. Of course she was not truly imprisoned; she could leave Blog Shakâmb at any time, but she had to wait for the things Gîrakûn had sent for. And Gîrakûn had refused to let her move up to the garrison; she claimed that the regular Uruks were too unruly. But after a few nights Záhovar would rather have taken the Uruks' violence and crudeness over the refined but utterly disturbing alternative that she was forced to endure.  
The assaults on her mind did not return, but those on her body continued. Kaelun had apparently been given free access to Záhovar's chamber and seemed immune to everything she tried. Since Záhovar did not hold the leash on his mind, he ignored her protests. She stayed away from her chamber until she was beyond exhaustion, hoping that he would eventually give up, but whenever she returned he was waiting for her. She tried to cloak herself in shadow, but he sniffed her out. Her weak spells seemed to slide off him like water off well-oiled leather. She tried to beat him into submission, but he was too strong. She tried to bar the door, but somehow he got in anyway. She wondered if Gîrakûn had somehow enchanted the furniture to return to their original place the moment she closed her eyes. No doubt the witch did this to her on purpose; she claimed not to know what she was talking about when confronted about her snaga's behaviour, but the smile on her face as she did so told otherwise.  
Záhovar had to admit one thing though; he _was_ rather skilled. Kaelun had been told to worship her, and so he did. Ever the gentleman, even as he removed the armour and clothing from her struggling body; he always took great care not to scratch her or ruin her clothes and always folded them neatly and placed them on a chair before assaulting her. Every dent or tear got repaired the next morning, the same as with every piece of furniture that happened to break during her violent attempts to keep him at bay. As he busied himself between her legs and made her lose all control over her own body, Záhovar decided two things.  
One; this was definitely not an adolescent boy, no matter his looks. He had the strength, stamina and endowment of a fully grown Uruk and used all three to perfection. Every time she fell asleep, she did so in his arms; every time she woke up, she did so with his tongue between her legs. He washed her carefully afterwards as if she was an idol in some temple, patting her dry and combing her hair. And every time he spent himself inside of her, he wept and pleaded for her to kill him before exhaustion took them both.  
Two; that she would never, _ever_ allow Gîrakûn access to her snaga, if it was within her power to do so. Especially Praktash. There was no doubt that Praktash had once been in Kaelun's situation, his mind and body twisted and forced to serve his mistress' every need and whim, and the thought of him ever ending up here again after all he had been through made Záhovar furious beyond thought for some reason. Holding a conversation of any kind with Kaelun was pointless; while under the mind domination, his only wish was to 'worship', and during the brief moments when he was not he only cried and begged for death. If this was how the perfect snaga should behave, then Záhovar had no snaga and was happy that she did not.  
  
To learn more and better understand Praktash's situation, she pretended to have changed her mind slightly about the Officer/snaga-issue and asked Gîrakûn about Kaelun's obvious differences compared to the rest of his kind. Gîrakûn was more than happy to educate her, and her descriptions of how she had turned the boy from an Uruk soldier to whatever he now was made Záhovar sick. She also endured a visual demonstration as Gîrakûn brought her down to her study where she conducted experiments. Dark sorcery permeated the air and Záhovar cloaked herself in a tiny bit of the Wraith-world to keep its destructive influence at bay. An Uruk lay restrained on a table, covered in a thick layer of a pale green, translucent goo that Gîrakûn told her would soften his skin, flesh and bones and make them malleable and possible to sculpt like clay. The Uruk was obviously awake and aware during the process, which must be causing him excrutiating agony.  
Afterwards, Záhovar excused herself and took a stroll on the battlements to clear her mind. Praktash had always been reluctant to talk about his past, especially to her. Graznikh knew more but had been equally reluctant. Záhovar had never understood the reason for his hate and fear of her, nor the almost irrational panic he displayed whenever exposed to sorcery. But the moment she spotted Kaelun, a number of questions had been answered all at once. Gîrakûn's demonstration of her work had answered more.  
Záhovar felt ambivalent. If not for Gîrakûn, Praktash would never have existed, not even as an Uruk. _She may not be solely responsible for the Uruks' creation, but she had an important part. And I cannot kill her, or even challenge her. Not only is she too strong, but also far too elevated in our Master's eyes. Doing so would only raise His ire and do nothing to..._ Záhovar frowned. Why did she want to help them? Why did their suffering bother her so? _I cannot let this distract me now. I must focus on the primary task at hand._ But she would remember. This would not go unanswered forever.  
  
A few days later, the uzhâk reached Nurza-Shûk. Graznikh's young warg had apparently been relocated there once it was old enough to leave its mother, and now he and Praktash walked through the large camp towards the warg pens. Margzat had stayed behind to get acommodations. Graznikh was glad to be out of the bossy Uruk's presence for a while; this was a special moment and one he did not want ruined with unneccessary interruptions.  
”This way,” one of the pen keepers said as he gave her his name and number. ”Keep yer wits about ya. This one's crafty.”  
Graznikh handed his swords and backplate to Praktash as the pen keeper opened the gate. This would be a bare-handed fight. He assumed his most assertive, confident stance as the pen swung opened. The warg stretched and yawned, then walked over to him at an almost leisurely pace. It was still the same colour as it had been when Graznikh held it as a cub; a near-black coat with light grey stripes and two small grey dots on its forehead, one on each side just above the eyes. It met his eyes with a calm, sly expression as it sniffed his face. Then it pounced.  
”Stay outta this!!” he roared at Praktash as he rolled out of the way. The warg turned as it landed, sweeping a clawed paw at him and shredding his leather shirt open. Graznikh pounced back with a roar of his own, dodging the snapping fangs and managed to mount the warg's back. It howled with rage and tried to shrug him off.  
”The fuck are they doin'?!” Praktash shouted at the pen keeper.  
”Bondin',” she said calmly as if the warg wasn't busy trying to tear Graznikh to pieces. ”If a rider can't best his warg, he ain't ever gonna ride it. 'At's how it is.”  
”But... Zuzar never did any o' that,” Praktash said and winced as the warg rolled to get its unwanted baggage off its back.  
”Heard o' that from Brodhurz. 'At was a queer case. Normally they're not introduced 'til they're grown, like this. It's better this way; makes certain only the strongest ones make it as riders.”  
Suddenly there was a loud yelp from the battleground. Graznikh had decided to play dirty and had grabbed the warg by the balls.  
”If ya ever wanna sire puppies like yer daddy, ya better give up right this bloody moment!” he snarled. The warg whimpered as he pricked the sensitive skin with his claws, then there was a huff and the warg went limp. As Graznikh let go and squatted by its head, the warg lifted its head and looked at him, tail wagging.  
”Muzgûrgol,” it growled and tilted its head.  
”Yup, that's me,” Graznikh said as he grinned and scratched its ear. ”Name's Graznikh. Big guy over there's Praktash, he's my buddy so you'll be nice to him, won'tcha? What's yer name?”  
”Akûl,” the warg replied.  
”Right, it's done. Back in the pen with ya,” the pen keeper said.  
”What's this?” Graznikh asked as Akûl began to growl.  
”He ain't trained yet,” the pen keeper said. ”We can't let 'im go until- hey!”  
”I'll train him myself,” Graznikh growled as he walked away with Akûl happily stalking after him. ”We don't need the lot o' ya to do that.”  
  
”Hungry? I'm bloody starvin',” Graznikh grumbled as they returned to the uzhâk's quarters. ”I'll go fetch some food, be right back.”  
Praktash smiled a little as Graznikh left with the young warg in tow.  
”So,” a deep voice said behind him. Praktash turned to face krîtar Margzat, who gave him a cocksure grin. ”I'm thinkin', since we're stayin' for the night... Care to spar, Lug-snaga?”  
Praktash desperately searched for a way to back out of it without losing face.  
”Sorry, big guy. A spar between us wouldn't really be a spar,” he said with an apologetic little grin and turned to leave.  
”Ya think you're that good, huh?” Margzat chuckled.  
_Eeeep!!_ ”What? I didn't say-”  
Margzat was suddenly right in front of him, so close that Praktash had to bend his neck backwards to look the bigger Uruk in the eye as he leaned over him. He couldn't help but fill his lungs with Margzat's warm, spicy scent. ”Then prove it. Come along now!” Margzat barked in a voice that wouldn't take no for an answer.  
Praktash felt trapped as he followed the krîtar towards the sparring grounds. He thought about bolting like a coward, but he knew he wouldn't be able to face Margzat again if he did that, and that wouldn't be a good thing since they were going to be travelling together for a long time. Soon he found himself standing in front of Margzat on the makeshift sparring ground; basically just a small somewhat even field that had been cleared of large rocks, located in front of a cliff wall that someone had bothered to cut flat.  
”Weapon of choice?” Margzat asked.  
”Dire-mace,” Praktash answered.  
Margzat became thoughtful. ”Hnh. Don't think we got one o' those here. I'm thinkin' I saw one in the armoury earlier though.”  
Praktash spotted a snaga nearby. The goblin didn't look like he had anything to do, so Praktash asked him to go fetch a mace.  
”Okay,” the snaga said without moving. Praktash frowned and was about to tell him off when Margzat suddenly seemed to grow to twice his regular giant size right in front of Praktash's eyes. He turned on the goblin, fangs bared.  
”You'll fetch the Lug-snaga's dire-mace from the armoury! Now _HOP TO IT!!!”_ he bellowed and smacked his hands together so hard that Praktash jumped. The goblin looked like Death itself had just told him off for not dying fast enough and disappeared towards the armoury, leaving only little dust clouds behind.  
Praktash couldn't help but laugh a little. ”Look at 'im go!” Then he turned to look at Margzat, who was standing next to him with a strange grin on his face. ”What?”  
”Ya can't be lax with 'em,” the giant Uruk said. ”The snaga in the camps aren't as disciplined as those in Lugburz. If you ain't got a whip, ya don't matter to 'em.”  
”The fuck d'ya take me for; a bloody beginner?” Praktash snapped. ”I know how it's done!”  
”'Course ya do,” Margzat rumbled as he turned away. Praktash growled. _You bloody bastard!_  
”So why dire-mace?” Margzat asked as they waited for said mace.  
Praktash shrugged. ”Got many uses.”  
”More'n a sword?”  
”Can't bash open a door with a sword.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Ya haven't seen me usin' my sword then.”  
Praktash laughed. ”Well, you're a bit o' a special case there.”  
Margzat was up in his face before he could even react. ”What was that now?” he asked softly. ”Callin' me 'special', are we?”  
”I-I didn't...”  
”Go on. Say that again. Make it good.”  
”I'm just sayin' I think your 'sword' could bash in the door o' the fuckin' Elf capital _and_ its king if it wanted to.” Praktash had no idea where his audacity came from. Had he just told a dick joke in the face of a krîtar? Margzat stared at him as if he'd grown a second head and Praktash prepared for his final moments in life. Then the krîtar slapped his arm and burst into laughter. Praktash stared dumbfounded for a moment before giving him a lopsided little grin. Margzat looked at him and shook his head, black hair swinging.  
”That one was good! Real good,” he chuckled. ”An' it wasn't a trench joke either. Nice one, Lug-snaga.”  
Praktash was rather proud that he managed to keep his face straight as he was reminded of _that_ particular part of Margzat's work history. At that point the snaga returned, dragging the dire-mace behind him since it was too heavy to lift for the little Orc. Praktash took it in one hand and put it on his shoulder without so much as a 'thank you'. He marched back to Margzat and gave him a cocksure grin. Then he remembered that the real test hadn't even started yet and his guts tied themselves up, sank through the ground and disappeared altogether.  
Margzat took a battered shield and a training sword from the nearby weapon rack and bashed the latter against the former a few times as he turned towards Praktash with a big grin.  
”So, Bukrazikh... Let's see what ye're made of, shall we?” As he advanced, Praktash took his mace in both hands and desperately tried to remember the pointers Graznikh had given him during their training sessions. Then Margzat charged with a thundering roar, and everything disappeared.  
  
After several clashes, Praktash was beginning to feel a little worried. _This can't be happening,_ he thought, _he must be fakin' it. He can't possibly be this bad!_ Margzat really _did_ use his sword like a battering ram, slashing and thrusting hard without finesse. Praktash had no trouble blocking his blows and clumsy feints. It would have been a laughing matter, if not for the fact that this was a krîtar in the army of Lugburz, a guy who had five _hundred_ Uruk warriors under his command, a guy who had fought his way to the position. Was he really just a bunch of muscle with no fighting skill at all? Praktash could hardly believe it.  
Meanwhile, Margzat was beginning to feel worried but for completely different reasons. He just couldn't hit the guy. Praktash was like an eel, twisting and turning to slip away from his every attack without ever really attacking him back. _Is he tryin' to wear me out? Is he scared? What the fuck is this?_  
Graznikh returned after a little while to find his buddy. When he had searched the whole camp without finding him, he went to the last place he expected Praktash to be; the sparring grounds. _I probably just missed him somewhere on the way,_ he thought, but as he approached the sparring grounds a crowd had gathered to watch the action. As he finally managed to sneak past the Uruks without getting elbowed in the face or trampled by mistake, he came upon an incredible, unbelievable sight; Praktash was sparring with and completely beating the crap out of the increasingly frustrated Margzat. Graznikh couldn't keep a proud grin from his face as he leaned against the weapon rack.  
Praktash used his dire-mace as leverage as he spun into the air and caught Margzat's shield with his toe claws, tearing it clean off his arm and sending it flying to the other end of the sparring grounds. Margzat snarled and barely managed to dodge as Praktash's second foot nearly hit him in the face, tearing a small gash in his cheek with a claw. Praktash smoothly returned to the ground and resumed his pacing. Eventually Margzat decided to try a different tactic and threw his sword away.  
”Givin' up, are ya?” Praktash asked merrily.  
”Not yet, little guy,” Margzat grinned. ”Not yet.” Praktash laughed, and the krîtar bared his fangs. ”What's so damn funny?”  
”That'd be the first time someone called me 'little',” Praktash chuckled. ”Usually it's more like 'ohh, you're too big'!”  
”I'm thinkin' I know who'll be sayin' that when this is over. Little guy.”  
”That's under the belt, y'know.”  
”Oh, I will be. I will.” Margzat fell into a crouch, prowling towards Praktash with a feral grin, wiggling his fingers in a 'come hither' manner. Praktash could feel his sight refocusing as his normally almond-shaped pupils grew round, but kept his distance knowing he would have no chance if the bigger Uruk managed to get up close and personal with him. Not only because Margzat was bigger and stronger, but also because his remarks had hit home and Praktash knew he wouldn't be able to keep his focus right if he had to wrestle with him. And if Margzat managed to bite him... _Fuck, I'd be his bitch in no time!_  
  
After a few tumbles where Praktash only barely managed to avoid being caught, he began to use his mace to keep Margzat at bay. The krîtar wore his usual smug grin now that he had his prey on the defense. As Praktash swung the mace against his legs, he caught it and pulled him off his feet and into a bear hug. The smaller Uruk yelped as he tumbled into the krîtar's arms.  
Praktash almost panicked. He kicked and snarled and had never regretted his deliberate lack of claws so deeply before. Margzat chuckled at his futile thrashing and snapped his fangs at his face. Praktash acted on pure instinct and shot up against his face with open jaws. There was a loud 'click' as Margzat caught his fangs with his own.  
Praktash had no idea what to do now. His last weapon had been disarmed and Margzat now pushed him up against the rock wall behind, shielding them from the audience with his own body. _Graznikh,_ he begged inside. _Please help me buddy!_  
He tried to snarl into Margzat's mouth and got a purr in return. _What the_ fuck _does he have to purr about?!_ Then his eyes grew wide as he felt Margzat's warm tongue sneak in between their interlocked fangs and into his mouth, playing with his own tongue. Somewhere in the chaos inside his head he took note of the fact that Margzat had a split tongue like that of a snake, as if cut in two straight down the middle, and that both sides moved independently of each other. Praktash couldn't _believe_ his first kiss with another Uruk would happen like this. _On the sparrin' grounds? And with the hated-by-all krîtar?? That's fuckin' fresh-outta-the-pit bootcamp fantasies! Not somethin' seasoned warriors do for real!_  
Even so, he could feel his knees go weak and wouldn't believe Margzat for the blink of an eye if they ever spoke of this again and he claimed that he never noticed the raging hardon insistently batting his thigh through Praktash's loincloth. Praktash had tried kissing Graznikh a few times and it had been really good, but Graznikh's fangs didn't really fit his own and if he had bit down as hard as he wanted he would have shattered his little buddy's jaw. Margzat, however, bit down so hard that Praktash could feel his lower jaw bend under the pressure. _Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Keep doin' that an' I_ will _be your bitch, big guy!_  
  
”What the fuck?” Graznikh heard one of the nearby Uruks exclaim as his buddy got caught.  
”Think we're gettin' a new opa-snaga today?” another one asked.  
”Nar. Won't be much left to fuck anyway once the krîtar's had his way with 'im.”  
”Ya had him?”  
”Fuck no! I'd be walkin' bowlegged for the rest o' my life. Bastard's as big as he looks.”  
Graznikh rubbed his mouth and chin with a hand to hide his grin. _Skai buddy, you just had to go for the half-troll, didn'tcha?_  
  
Margzat broke the kiss far too soon for Praktash's liking. Then he gave him another smug grin.  
”I like the way ya spar, Bukrazikh,” Margzat rumbled. Then he let Praktash go, only to spin him around and give him a hard slap on his rump. Graznikh could hear him squeak out a loud ”Oh!” with made the crowd erupt with jeers and laughter.  
Praktash's eyes turned black with rage. He spun and charged Margzat with a battle-roar, clawless hands outstretched towards his neck. Margzat only chuckled and held him at bay.  
”I HATE YOU!!!” Praktash howled as he tore at him, kicking and clawing, all in vain. Then he stopped abruptly, clenching his fists, and gave Margzat a furious, humiliated scowl. Then he ran, followed by the onlookers' laughter.  
Graznikh felt genuinely sorry for Praktash. _That was just fuckin' mean,_ he thought as he looked at Margzat with an angry frown. _I'm gonna teach ya a lesson, you smug tyrant. Time to take ya down a few notches!_  
”Nice spar,” he sneered as he sauntered out onto the training grounds. Margzat turned to him with a chuckle.  
”Decent,” he replied. ”He's a quick one.”  
”Care for another?” Graznikh asked with a cocky grin. Margzat eyed him a bit before he answered.  
”I don't spar with berserkers.”  
”Don't worry, lord Záhovar's in charge again. I already asked him; he'll drop me outta it if I lose it.” It was a lie, but Margzat swallowed the bait.  
”If ya say so, Lug-snaga. This'll be interestin'.” Graznikh watched as he went to fetch his sword and shield.  
”Weapon o' choice?”  
”Got these,” Graznikh said, twirling his old knives in his hands. He couldn't use the new ones for sparring, and it felt good to have his old friends back in his hands. Margzat chuckled as he spotted the short blades.  
”A berserker with a pair o' toothpicks, eh? This _will_ be interestin'!” He turned to the crowd and told them to stay out of his business, no matter what happened. Then the sparring began.  
  
Praktash hid in the tent he shared with Graznikh. He had never been so humiliated in his entire life. The big bastard just _had_ to go and ruin everything! And Graznikh... He had just stood there without lifting a finger to help him. He furiously rubbed his face to wipe the hated tears away, but they just kept coming. _Why do I have to be so bloody weak?!_  
The leather flap that covered the entrance to the tent moved, and soon Akûl stuck his big fuzzy head inside it. Praktash looked away, too ashamed of himself to face even a warg. Akûl made a strange gurgling noise and tried to crawl further inside without wrecking the little tent. As he reached Praktash, the Uruk started as a warm tongue briefly lapped his tear-stained cheek.  
”Za krîtar ti krivâkal,” the warg growled with a wolfish grin as Praktash looked at him. ”Muzgûrgol zabat luzhur.”  
Praktash sat perfectly still for a moment as the warg's words sunk in. Then he grinned and wiped his tears away. ”Show me!”  
  
Graznikh rolled out of the way as Margzat's shield hit the ground. In one smooth move he got to his feet and leapt into the air to avoid the sword. As he hit the ground again he threw himself at Margzat's leg and almost managed to topple him, but then he had to vault backwards to dodge another swing with the shield. Praktash was strong enough to simply block the krîtar's blows, but Graznikh had no such luxury. One hit and he would be sent flying. His feet barely touched the ground before he jumped again, punching Margzat hard in the face before darting between his legs to get out of the way.  
Margzat shook his head and turned to face him, spitting blood from his broken lip.  
”What, no goadin'?” Graznikh jeered. ”No promises 'bout what you're gonna do to my sorry arse once ya catch me?”  
Margzat smiled grimly, shaking his head. ”I know why ye're doin' this, Lug-snaga.”  
”An' why would that be?”  
”Ye're pissed 'cause o' what I did to yer buddy.”  
”You're bloody right I am,” Graznikh growled.  
”Then we can stop this an' sort it out proper. We both know I ain't gonna best ya.”  
”Oh no,” Graznikh replied with a vicious leer. ”I ain't done with ya yet!”  
He charged and jumped into the air, knives prepared for stabbing. As Margzat lifted his shield to defend himself, Graznikh curled into a ball and used his momentum and the shield's angle to roll over the krîtar's head and down onto his back, clutching the Uruk's long hair to steady himself. The next moment Margzat had a knife at his throat.  
”Drop th' sword,” Graznikh growled in his ear. ”Shield too.”  
Margzat complied.  
”On yer knees.” As the Uruk slumped down with a defeated grunt, Graznikh put his feet back on the ground. Orcs did not cry, but their eyes could tear up for other reasons. As Graznikh grabbed Margzat's eartip and twisted it hard, he could see the tears glittering in the giant Uruk's pinched-shut eyes.  
”Now,” he growled, low enough that the crowd would not hear. ”Consider this yer only warning. If I ever hear o' shit like this again, I'll start choppin' fingers. Ya wanna chat with him; fine, flirt with him; fine. But no more draggin' his arse through the dirt like this, or I'll get angry for real.”  
Margzat nodded and Graznikh removed the knife. However, he kept a tight grip on his ear. ”Now why'd ya do that? T'was bloody unnecessary an' you know it.”  
Margzat mumbled something incoherent and Graznikh tugged the ear, making him whimper in pain. ”Can't hear ya!”  
”He's just so bloody _cute_ when he's pissed,” the giant Uruk whispered. ”Makes my knees wobbly.” Graznikh stared at him for a moment, then he let go of his ear with an evil grin. Margzat gave him a pleading look. ”Don't tell him I said that. _Please!_ ”  
”I _might_ be able to keep it in... If ya apologise to him on bended knee before we leave Morigost. I'll hear of it when ya do. If ya don't, well...”  
Margzat looked like he was about to cry. He never noticed Praktash and Akûl sneaking away from their hiding place on the cliff, but Graznikh did.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yashaga – This is a little homage to The Lauderdale's story ”Treed” and the hilarious and wonderfully Orcish song it features. I very much recommend it and it can be found here on AO3.
> 
> Uzhâk – a group of ten soldiers  
> Opa-snaga – Orcish slang for Black Speech 'opash-snaga', lit. 'pleasure-slave'. There are many different types, from the treasured concubines of certain High Officers to the whores of Thaurband and the late Third Age Isengardian 'globatish'  
> Dire-mace – this is basically a staff with small mace heads attached to each end  
> Muzgûrgol – longrider  
> Akûl – ice  
> Za krîtar ti krivâkal – the krîtar is humbled  
> Muzgûrgol zabat luzhur – Longrider owns him


	4. An Uruk's Apology

Eventually, Záhovar stopped fighting back. There was simply no point in doing so. Kaelun's actions did not harm her; in fact, he went to great length to avoid doing so. And none of this was his fault; since he was under a domination spell, he would be forced to carry out the commands even if Záhovar broke every bone in his body. She had no interest in doing so, so she simply let him have his way. It seemed to give him some small comfort; he still cried every time the domination spell slipped from his mind, but he no longer begged for death. Záhovar kept repeating her promise to return and help him and he seemed to drink every syllable. His eyes told her that he did not believe her, but that he needed to hear the words anyway. The last night, he crawled close even as he cried and held her tight as if trying to apologise.  
Záhovar breathed a sigh of relief when Gîrakûn told her that the items she had requested had finally arrived.  
”I must say, I am rather impressed,” Gîrakûn said as Záhovar lifted the new glaive and tested its balance. ”I did not know you had contacts like these. Had I known... I might have wanted to place an order for myself on the side, if you had allowed me.”  
Záhovar smirked a little. The new weapon was not dwarven-made like Graznikh's swords, but had been brought in from a secret and rarely contacted source in the far northeast, as had the bracers and greaves that came with it. All three were of dark brown leather with reinforcements in the same dark metal that reinforced her cuirass. The glaive was still unfinished, but that was between Záhovar and another. ”I did not place the order.”  
Gîrakûn's eyes widened ever so slightly, answering a question that Záhovar would never ask but that had burned in her mind since that first night. _So you_ did _hold it back to delay me. I hope you understand the mistake you have made,_ witch _, going against the Eye like this. If there is nothing else you hold sacred, I hope you do your fear of Him._ One exchanged look was enough for the power balance to shift in Záhovar's favour.  
  
There was nothing to hold her back anymore, so Záhovar left for the stables as soon as she was able. She did not see Kaelun again, but the witch came down to see her off. Gîrakûn opened her mouth to speak, but the former student held her hand up.  
”You owe me,” Záhovar said and the witch nodded.  
”Indeed. What is your silence worth?”  
”Kaelun.”  
Gîrakûn frowned. ”Is that all?”  
”To begin with. You will not force _him_ through any more torture. No experiments, no molestation. He will remain as he is, you will feed and water him properly, and when I return you will hand over the leash to me.”  
After a moment's hesitation, Gîrakûn nodded once more. ”It will be done.”  
”I may be in His Shadow,” Záhovar said as she mounted her horse and adjusted the glaive so that it would not be in the way. ”But you are not. Even with my silence, you cannot hide forever.”  
Gîrakûn gave her a thin-lipped smile before she turned away. Záhovar urged her horse into a canter and left Blog Shakâmb, hoping to never have to return.  
  
  
Meanwhile, Sulmurz was waiting at the gate as Graznikh and Praktash entered Morigost with the Uruks in tow.  
”Hey, Black Rider!” he said and punched Graznikh's shoulder. ”You owe me a pair o' pants.”  
Graznikh grabbed his hair and gave him a good, hard shake in return. ”Hey Cap'n, what's for dinner?”  
”Did ya have to fuckin' remind me?” Sulmurz whined. Then he scowled as he spotted Margzat and Praktash. ”Why didn'tcha leave those in Nurza-Shûk? There's an Uruk encampment there, they'd be right at home.”  
”'Cause the order was to go to Morigost. I ain't gonna yap at lord Záhovar about details.”  
”Right,” Sulmurz said with a new light in his eyes. ”So... is the high lord here? Should I make things... comfortable?”  
”Not yet,” Graznikh chuckled. ”He should be here in a few nights though. Might as well prepare suitable quarters.”  
”Will do,” Sulmurz said and licked his fangs. ”Will do. An' these two?”  
”Quarters for me an' ten others,” Margzat said. ”Bukrazikh here'll bunk with the Lug-snaga.” With that, he grabbed Praktash by the backstrap and shoved him towards Graznikh. Praktash growled and gave the krîtar a very graphic description about what his mother had done with three trolls, thirteen dwarves and a ladle, but Margzat only laughed. Graznikh couldn't help but chuckle a little and Praktash turned on him instead.  
”What's so fuckin' funny?!”  
”Well,” Graznikh drawled with a wink towards Margzat, ”there's just somethin' 'bout ya when you're angry, somethin'...” Then he laughed as he spotted Margzat waving his hands frantically towards him with an 'oh no please don't'-expression. Praktash spun back towards the krîtar who tried to look innocent and failed miserably.  
”Fuckin' bullies,” Praktash snarled and folded his arms.  
Sulmurz just stared at them. ”...Quarters. Right. I'll... just go an' see to it, then.” He gave Graznikh one last nod before leaving.  
Praktash stopped sulking and gave Sulmurz a thoughtful look as he left. ”Záhovar's gonna kill him.”  
”Cocky, right? He could do with being taken down a notch or two.”  
Praktash agreed wholeheartedly.  
”Not by you.”  
”Aw, but Graaaz!”  
Margzat let out a loud indignant snort. The whiny and immature behaviour that Praktash had recently taken up seemed to annoy him to no end, and Graznikh suspected that Praktash did it for exactly that reason. As the krîtar left, rumbling something about Uruks and dignity, Praktash held up two fingers and wiggled his tongue inbetween them towards him. Margzat gave him a lopsided grin before he left.  
”That gesture doesn't mean what you're usin' it for,” Graznikh commented.  
”I don't care,” Praktash merrily replied. ”It's pissin' him off, so it works.”  
  
The main cavern was quite crowded as they entered.  
”Hey Mikbork,” Graznikh said with a grin as he spotted the snuffler lurking nearby. ”Still alive, are ya?” Mikbork gave him a big grin and as he approached, Graznikh noticed that he had a fresh bite mark in his arm. ”The fuck happened to ya?”  
”Took a tumble with a rat,” the goblin said. ”Ate it after.”  
”Good for ya!”  
”What the fuck izzat?!” Praktash exclaimed with a giddy grin as he spotted Mikbork. Mikbork squealed loudly and bolted with the happy Uruk close behind, sending chairs and Orcs flying. Margzat who had followed behind them let out an embarrassed groan. Once he had him cornered, Praktash squatted in front of the goblin who was trying to hide behind a fallen chair. ”Look at 'im,” he cooed. ”He's fuckin' _cute_!”  
”Hands off the snuffler, Praktash,” Graznikh said with a grin.  
”Aw but Graaaz, I haven't even done anythin' yet!”  
”The key word here bein' 'yet'. He's no use to us dead or unable to walk.”  
”Don't worry, I can carry him!”  
”Praktash... Back. The fuck. Off.”  
The Uruk rose into a crouch, meeting Graznikh's eyes with a defiant look and Graznikh prepared for a fight. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Margzat doing the same. Praktash readily deferred to him whenever it was just the two of them, but Graznikh didn't expect him to do so this openly in front of the entire garrison. Uruks were, after all, the 'superior breed' and were naturally in charge wherever they were, no matter how much other Orcs disliked it. As a revenge for being humiliated in front of his pack during the sparring earlier that week, Margzat made sure to remind him of this every time orders were to be given. If Praktash challenged him, Margzat would be close behind and Graznikh had no illusions of being able to take on two Black Uruks at the same time, especially not these two. Even so, it took him completely by surprise when Praktash relaxed, sank back into the squat and bowed his head slightly without breaking eye contact.  
”Fine, you win li'l buddy.” Praktash gave Mikbork a friendly smile and backed away. Graznikh straightened up a little and nodded to him, secretly savouring the look of absolute shock and humiliation on Margzat's face as well as the look of unabashed worship that bloomed on Mikbork's. _You've just set the stage for some seriously fucked-up power dynamics there, buddy._  
  
”Thanks,” Graznikh said the moment they were alone.  
Praktash arched a tattooed eyebrow. ”For what?”  
”For... You know. Back there.”  
”That wasn't a favour,” Praktash smirked, then he grew serious. ”I didn't back down to save you from a beatin'. I believe in ya. Anyone messes with ya, they mess with me too. I got your back.”  
”In more than one way,” Graznikh leered, making the Uruk purr a little. ”Margzat's gonna start hatin' ya for this, y'know.”  
”He already does. The fact that I even listen to ya seems to piss him off at every turn.”  
”I thought ya liked the guy?”  
”Fuck no! He's good lookin', but I can't stand those smug Officer types. With lord Záhovar's word at my back, I can piss him off at every turn without havin' to fear for my life.”  
”An' you keep accusin' _me_ of abusin' the system! At least you're not lettin' me top ya.”  
”Oh, the day he finds out..!” Graznikh laughed as Praktash did a little happy dance with an ecstatic grin on his face.  
”Should I be worried?”  
Graznikh jumped at hearing Záhovar's voice so close to his ear and Praktash let out a little 'eep' of surprise. Záhovar was right behind them, no doubt eavesdropping on every word before revealing herself.  
”Hey Master,” Graznikh said once he had regained his composure.  
”I cannot protect you from everything, you know,” she said with a telling glance at Praktash. ”Even people like him have limits to how much they can take.”  
”I'll go easy on him,” Praktash promised. ”I don't dislike him near as much as I do most others. He's alright as long as he stays off the 'better-than-you' attitude.”  
Graznikh allowed himself a brief, warm smile as she came closer. ”Wait, how did ya get in without the entire place standin' on attention?”  
”I took the back door.”  
”Yeah, you like that, don'tcha?” Praktash murmured under his breath with a dirty little smile. Then he gasped as the iron collar around his neck briefly turned ice cold.  
”Careful,” Záhovar whispered. ”You cannot know who else may be listening.” Praktash swallowed and nodded.  
”We've prepared your quarters,” Graznikh said as they began walking into the fortress. ”In case ya wanna rest. I'll alert Sulmurz to your arrival too.”  
”Is this the one you mentioned earlier?”  
”Aye. Wanted to join our ranks.”  
Záhovar gave him a straight look as he hesitated. ”Anything I should know?”  
”He's... a li'l rough around the edges,” Praktash said with a big grin.  
”Smooth,” Graznikh chuckled. ”He's bloody crazy. Thinks he can just waltz into yer bedchambers an' flip ya over.”  
Something utterly deranged entered the High Officer's eyes. Graznikh's heart sank and Praktash took a few steps back, raising his hands in a defensive manner.  
”Don't... don't kill 'im, alright?” Graznikh stuttered. ”We kinda need him. Good taskmaster, an'... all that.”  
She looked at him in silence for a long while before replying. ”I will not... kill him.” Then she spun and left before Graznikh could say anything else to her.  
”Oh shit.”  
”Poor, _poor_ Captain Sulmurz,” Praktash purred.  
  
They returned to the main cavern and went to Sulmurz's table, informing him of the High Officer's arrival. Margzat came over with four tankards, handing one each to Graznikh and Sulmurz. Praktash nodded in thanks as Margzat put the third one down, but the big Uruk sent it sliding past him. Praktash frowned in confusion until Margzat placed an arm around his shoulders and lifted him to where the tankard had stopped before taking his place. Sulmurz looked confused and Graznikh desperately tried to hide his grin as Praktash stared right ahead with a look of absolute shock on his face for a moment. Then he turned on Margzat with the most furious expression Graznikh had ever seen.  
”The _fuck!?_ ” he managed to hiss. Margzat only gave him one of his usual cocky grins and winked.  
”Wanna fight about it?” the big Uruk rumbled. Graznikh almost thought his buddy would take him up on it at first, but after a few moments of fuming Praktash simply let out a trumpeting snort and turned away. As he did so, Margzat's expression softened and he gave the back of his head a fond look that definitely wasn't meant for anyone else to see. He actually looked a little embarrassed as Graznikh winked at him with a nod towards the sulking Praktash, and despite it not showing on his black skin, Graznikh was sure the big guy was blushing.  
”Ye're a good warrior, Lug-snaga,” he said after a bit of awkward silence.  
”Nar,” Graznikh laughed. ”I'm a good _fighter_. That's why you guys couldn't best me.”  
”What's the difference?” Margzat asked with a confused frown.  
”A good warrior is a good soldier,” Graznikh explained. ”Says so right in the name. They're good at following orders an' at workin' in a group. They're good in war, in a big battle where everything's chaos an' there're enemies everywhere. I never had that kind o' formal training, but I got training of a different kind. A good fighter can hold his own an' work alone, even against bigger enemies or when outnumbered. I've fought in a war, but it was just a few skirmishes an' one brief siege an' even then I mostly ran on my own. I'm no soldier, so I don't always follow orders to the letter; sometimes I tweak 'em a little. Lord Záhovar allows it 'cause he knows I won't fail him.”  
”Hnh,” Margzat grunted with a thoughtful expression. ”Guess he'd know, wouldn't he? With 'at bond an' all.”  
Graznikh's eyes grew wide for a moment, then they darted to Praktash who looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. ”Told 'im, did ya?”  
Praktash squirmed uncomfortably as he answered. ”Wasn't much left to tell after ya had that fit back in Kirithgal.”  
Graznikh stared at him angrily for a moment, then he sighed and jabbed his clawed thumb towards the door. ”Chat in private, right now. All three o' ya.”  
  
After entering a nearby room, closing the door and listening with his ear against it for a while to make sure no one had followed, he turned to Sulmurz and the Uruks.  
”I want one thing to be perfectly clear; that bond isn't supposed to be common knowledge. Don't ever mention it in public like that again. If word spreads that I've got a private path right into a High Officer's head an' the wrong people hear 'bout it, I'm gonna have the biggest target marker in the Black Land painted both front and back. An' no one would talk to me freely again, thinkin' my master would hear every word, which he doesn't. It would screw up everything we're tryin' to achieve, here an' elsewhere. Got it?”  
”I'm sorry,” Praktash said meekly. Margzat gave him an incredulous look, but he didn't care. Meeting Graznikh's disappointed eyes was the worst thing he had ever gone through, including the dungeons.  
”You of all folks should know this, Praktash,” Graznikh said quietly. Hearing his name spoken like that somehow made things worse, and Praktash felt the tears burn in the corners of his eyes. ”Please,” he whispered. ”I'm _sorry!_ I-I won't do it again, I swear! I'll make it up to ya, just... Just don't be angry. _Please!_ ”  
Graznikh just looked at him for a moment, then he put a hand on Praktash's arm. ”Don't worry 'bout it, buddy. You owe me more'n an apology, but I'm not angry with ya.” He gave Praktash a reassuring little smile that Praktash returned, biting his lip to not collapse in tears.  
Meanwhile, Sulmurz had stood quiet during the talk, eyeing the others' expressions. He had suspected that there was something special going on between Graznikh and his 'wargbitch' mistress, but seeing this exchange made things altogether different. Seeing one of the big Black Uruks reduced to near breaking point just from a few words; now that was bloody terrifying. The pale guy hadn't even raised his voice. _Shit,_ he thought. _A guy who can do that to an Uruk... I'd make that bastard fuckin' kritauk in no time at all! I wonder what he did to wrap two Uruks 'round his finger like that?_  
Margzat nodded as well. ”Don't worry, secret's safe with me. I might like to hear things, but I don't spread 'em along. Seein' as we're away from pryin' ears an' eyes now, there's somethin' I wanted to ask ya 'bout.”  
”Spit it out,” Graznikh said.  
”Heard some disturbin' rumours, comin' up north just after ya passed Blog Shakâmb that first time,” Margzat rumbled. Then he hesitated, scowling as if they were _too_ disturbing.  
”What kind o' rumours?” Graznikh asked.  
”The kind I usually bury in a bog after I beat the crap outta the rogue-goner who spreads 'em,” Margzat growled. ”In any case, it was about ya. Heard it said ya killed not one High Officer, but two.”  
Sulmurz almost toppled over where he stood and Praktash stared at Graznikh as if he had turned into a rabid warg with three heads. Graznikh himself kept his face calm and neutral.  
”Said ya ripped the face off the first an' painted the tent with his blood,” Margzat continued. ”The second one's sketchy, but breakin' into the royal palace in Khand was mentioned.”  
Graznikh let his face crack up in an insane leer that actually made Margzat take a reluctant step back. ”Second one wasn't me, that was all lord Záhovar. Though I did break into the palace, but that was to get to him. Some bastard Officer thought he could just pick me up from 'neath his nose an' lord it over me. Regular power struggle I'd guess. He was very remorseful 'bout the whole thing in the end.”  
”An' the first..?” Praktash whispered.  
”That... may've been me,” Graznikh replied. ”Ambassador somethin'. He an' lord Záhovar had a bit o' a showdown, an' I intervened at the worst possible moment. Since I screwed up, I thought I'd do something to make up for it.”  
”By rippin' his _face_ off?” Sulmurz asked.  
”He made my master lose face,” Graznikh grinned, ”so I stole his.”  
”But... but it was an _Officer!_ A bloody _Top One!”_ Praktash was in shock. ”What about the sorcery, an' the mind control, an'-”  
”Well he can't bloody use any o' that when he's asleep, can he? 'Specially not with a knife in his heart and another in his throat.” Graznikh shrugged. ”Záhovar was real pissed at me at first, but he came out on top in the end.” Then he started a little as Margzat moved.  
  
The krîtar sank down into a squat, one fist on the floor in front of him, the other on his knee, with his eyes on Graznikh. It could have been a regular, ordinary squat, such as Orcs and Uruks used when resting on the march. But the way Margzat did it, the way he briefly bowed his head towards the little pale Lug-snaga he'd been lording it over the whole trip from Lugburz was different; there was something deeply significant in that seemingly random move. It could not have been more so if he had offered him his sword on bended knee. As he looked up again, there was a deep respect in his eyes as he met Graznikh's.  
”If only half o' that is true... Yer enemies're mine, Lug-snaga. Graznikh.”  
”Lord Záhovar's, ya mean,” Graznikh replied with a grin as he nodded, acknowledging the krîtar's move.  
”If he's got the guts to bind ya to him an' give ya free hands like 'at... Well, there's somethin' to be said for havin' a mind o' yer own.”  
Praktash mirrored the move shortly after. ”Ya know I'm yours already,” he said with a fond grin. ”Might as well make it official. No matter what happens, I won't leave ya.”  
Sulmurz just laughed and shook his head as Graznikh turned to look at him. ”Ye're bloody insane, Black Rider,” he leered. ”I love it!” Then he briefly replicated the Uruks' move. ”Ya know I wanted in from the start.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Good. The fuck're you still here for, by the way? Didn't lord Záhovar call for ya?”  
”Yeah yeah, I'll get to it,” Sulmurz replied with a dirty little grin. ”Wish me luck!”  
”Ye're gonna need it,” Graznikh murmured.  
  
”Hey, Praktash.”  
Praktash froze in mid-step as Margzat said his name for the first time ever. The krîtar stopped beside him and held up a full booze skin. ”Care to share?”  
”Nope, got better things to do.”  
”Like what?”  
”Gotta file my claws,” Praktash drawled and held up a hand, giving his blunt black claws a critical look. ”I want 'em just so, an' I don't like bein' disturbed while I'm at it.” He started to walk again when Margzat's thick arm suddenly blocked his path at chest-level. He was well aqcuainted with the strength of those arms and knew he wouldn't be able to push his way past.  
”That can't wait a little?” Margzat asked.  
”The fuck d'ya want?”  
Margzat gave the skin a little telling wiggle.  
”What kinda stupid d'ya take me for? It's probably spiked anyway.”  
In reply, the krîtar shook the skin, unplugged it and took a quick swig.  
Praktash sighed. ”An' now you've gone an' soiled it.”  
”Like I soiled yer tongue the other night? C'mon. Just the one, then I'll let ya go.”  
Praktash looked for Graznikh, but he had already reached the main cavern and was nowhere in sight. He let out another sigh, then he nodded and let Margzat march him into another room further down the corridor.  
  
After making sure that Graznikh and that Uruk were both out of the way, Sulmurz sneaked up to the High Officer's chamber. He had made sure to polish himself up a little extra, even splashed some water in his armpits and on his cock to make sure he'd be presentable. Outside the door, he stretched a little and prepared himself for a night of hard, pleasurable work. Then he tapped it with his claws.  
”Enter,” a soft voice said.  
Záhovar was standing by a brazier, arms crossed before her, staring into the fire as Sulmurz entered. Several odd trinkets were hung up in strings of various length from the ceiling, throwing little shadows all over the walls. But Sulmurz was too busy with looking at the woman by the brazier and barely noticed them. She had smooth, pearly skin void of scars and an oddly symmetrical face that was very unlike an Orc's. Soft shiny hair spilled down her back in a brown hue that he had never even seen before. She was not very tall, in fact she was no taller than Graznikh, but height didn't matter. Her armour hugged her body while screaming power and dominance to any that saw her. She even wore a black tiara with three sharp points, indicating a High Officer of the highest rank. Sulmurz felt his knees go weak. _What a lady!_  
He made sure to use his most seductive swagger as he approached and stopped beside the brazier, right beside her. It was defeated a little since he constantly had to duck and twist around all the stringed-up stuff.  
”So, er...” he started. ”Ya called for me.” As the silence stretched without her acknowledging him, he began to feel slightly nervous. ”I'm Sulmurz by the way, Captain o'-”  
”I called for you _two tolls_ ago.”  
”Ah, right, 'bout that...” Sulmurz stammered. This was _not_ going well. ”We... don't really have tolls out 'ere, so, um... Guess I got a bit o' a time problem there... lost all track! Sorry...”  
As the silence stretched again, he tried to get her attention. ”So... what's it ya wanted from me?”  
”I sent Graznikh to do your task instead.”  
”Oh. Right.” As silence stretched once more, Sulmurz glanced at the things littering the room. _Who the fuck hangs a pair o' scissors in a string? An' a dice, an' a bone, an' an empty drinkin' skin? An'... the_ fuck, _izzat a dick made from marble??_ He quickly refrained from studying the rest of the things. Záhovar had not even looked at him but as he threw a glance at her, there was a small smirk on her lips. _Well... humour's a good thing, I suppose._  
”So, can I do somethin' else for ya? Anythin' at all..?” he tried. Her eyes lit up and for the first time since he had entered, she turned to look at him. Sulmurz hadn't really noticed her eyes before; like two smooth pieces of blue ice they were, with flickering ghostlight shining from deep within. The pupils were jet black, thin and elongated like those of a cat. They were dull and seemed to absorb light. Sulmurz purred a little and gave her a horny leer as she looked him up and down, a leer that she rewarded with a seductive little smile. _Yes! Score!_  
”That remains to be seen,” she murmured as she stepped closer. Sulmurz almost came a little in his pants as she took his package in a firm grip and backed him up against the wall.  
”Fuck yeah, ya really know how to handle a guy,” he purred.  
”Do you fear the shadows?” she asked. Funny thing to ask in a situation like this, but Sulmurz had a lady's hand on his cock for the first time in years and wasn't going to bitch about details. And _what_ a lady!  
”Sweet thing, I _am_ the shadows.”  
Záhovar smiled widely, and Sulmurz melted. Her eyes shone, and suddenly there was an odd blur in the corner of his eye. Sulmurz frowned. The next moment, every little shadow in the room sent tendrils towards him so fast that he didn't even have time to scream, and then everything went black. Now Sulmurz _did_ scream.  
”I have had more than enough of lusting Orcs,” Záhovar hissed as she retreated. ”You fail me, disobey me and dare to come here, thinking to reap a reward that was never even offered? Begone from my sight, and be thankful I do not strip the flesh from your bones and offer you up to the Nazgûl! Be grateful this Shadow will not last you a lifetime.” The shadows slowly retreated, and as the light returned to the room Sulmurz found that he was alone. The things that had hung everywhere in the ceiling were also gone. He had never left a room so fast in his life.

  
Once the door was closed, something seemed to drop from Margzat's shoulders. He rolled them with a wincing grin until they cracked, then he unbuckled his armour, threw Praktash the drinking skin, dropped down on a pile of straw-filled bags and made himself comfortable. Praktash unplugged the skin, sniffed the contents, caught a drop on his tongue, sniffed again and sampled it carefully.  
”No poisons? Drugs?” Margzat asked with a lopsided grin.  
”None that I can detect,” Praktash replied. He reclined on the bags far enough to be out of Margzat's reach, but close enough to be able to hold a conversation without having to shout to make himself heard over the brazier's crackling and the sound of the garrison outside.  
”Good stuff,” Margzat commented after taking a swig.  
Praktash grimaced. ”I've made better.”  
The krîtar looked at him. ”You made this?” When Praktash nodded he grinned. ”Just another kind o' medicine, huh?”  
”Nope,” Praktash replied. ”This stuff's just for gettin' drunk. That way I'll sell more painkillers.” Margzat laughed at that but soon fell quiet. After drinking in silence for a while, Margzat decided to try to strike up a conversation. ”So... Which pit're ya from?”  
”Eight,” Praktash replied. Margzat grinned.  
”Eight, huh? Good one. Same here.”  
Praktash glanced at him. ”Really? What batch?”  
”Ulm nog. You?”  
”Add three.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”So we're pit brothers, if not batch brothers.”  
”'Least we're not littermates,” Praktash mumbled.  
Margzat leaned towards him. ”Ya sure o' that? What's yer number?”  
”BS nog-nog udu-ruk.”  
The giant Uruk shook his head. ”Nar, we're not littermates then.”  
”Woulda been the first time that happened, if we were. You know they never take two from the same litter.”  
”Hnh.” Another moment of silence passed. ”What bootcamp?”  
Praktash winced. ”The one near the stairs.”  
”Skai!” Margzat stared at him. ”Wish I'd known that afore I let ya wipe the floor with my arse at the sparrin' grounds.”  
Praktash frowned. ”What of it?”  
”They never told ya? Guys who go there're aimed for the shock troops. Why'd ya drop out?”  
”I never dropped out!” Praktash growled. ”I got through, got garrisoned too!”  
Margzat frowned. ”Then...”  
”Drop it.”  
”But-”  
”Just _drop_ it!”  
”...Fine.”  
Praktash bit his lip as Margzat fell silent. Why did he have to be so damn snoopy? Margzat was staring into the fire, so he dared to take a closer look at the krîtar. The fire reflected in his dark red eyes, making them look like smouldering coals. He had unusually thick eyelashes and his oily black hair hung down across his heavy brow in an odd style that almost covered his left eye. A long scar ran down the right side of his face, crossing both his eye and the corner of his mouth. Underneath his eye there was another, the gash that Praktash had given him, crossing it at an angle. _Looks kinda fancy, put together like that an' with that hair._ His skin was the regular leathery texture and in the firelight, Praktash realised it wasn't completely black but a very dark grey. All put together, he had the kind of looks that would have made Praktash go wild, if not for that obnoxious Uruky attitude and the fact that he never used his name. Up until now, at least. _Why the sudden change?_  
  
”Gotta say,” Margzat rumbled after taking a good long swig from the drinking skin, ”that Officer o' yours's a queer one.”  
Praktash arched a tattooed eyebrow. ”How so?”  
”Well, I thought she'd be taller.”  
”Yeah, she-” He snapped his mouth shut and gave him a wary look. ” _She?_ ”  
”Oh, come on!” Margzat exclaimed. ”Don't tell me you've served under her for years an' never bloody noticed!”  
Praktash shook his head. ”I knew, but it was supposed to be... well, not public knowledge.”  
”I know,” Margzat said with a chuckle. ”Already got an earful 'bout it for callin' her 'my Ladyship' earlier.”  
Praktash almost choked on his drink. ”You _what?_ ”  
”I couldn't help it! Too bloody used to it from Blog Shakâmb. 'At's how I knew, by the way. Female shape an' all.”  
”So ya served under..?”  
”Nashrakû, yeah. Was her doorguard for years.” Margzat cocked his head as Praktash scowled. ”Don't like her?”  
”I'd rather not talk about it.”  
”Pity. I'm sure she'd like you.” As Praktash growled and turned away, Margzat realised he'd made a mistake. ”Skai... Forget I said anythin'. Not my place to poke like 'at.” The growl faded to a near-inaudible thrum in Praktash's throat, but his only reply was a snort. Margzat looked into the fire. ”I'm sorry.” Praktash turned back and gave him an incredulous glance. ”What?” Margzat shrugged and gave him an apologetic little smile that Praktash couldn't help but return.  
”Never mind. I just don't like talkin' 'bout it. I left Blog Shakâmb for a reason.”  
”Who doesn't? Might've done the same myself, if I hadn't... well, duty got in the way.” He glared at Praktash, who had to look away and bite his lip. ”Yeah, if I hadn't become Captain of the fuckin' Trench!” he half-shouted with a big grin. ”Get it out afore ya split down the middle like my previous bloody post!” He couldn't keep from laughing himself as Praktash exploded as much from nervosity as from mirth. ”Would it help to know that I went up and down into the damn place repeatedly durin' my stay there? Too bad I had to share it with 'bout seven hundred other guys an' a pack o' wargs!”  
”You're worse than Graznikh!” Praktash gasped as he got himself back under control.  
”Trust me; I've heard every possible twist o' a joke on that damn title,” Margzat laughed. ”Some o' them were so bad I can't even get mad 'bout it anymore. It'll probably follow me to my unmarked grave.”  
”Well, I'm sure it gave ya good experience. Morgai next? It's bigger though, so might not feel as nice.” Praktash began laughing again as Margzat hid his face in his hands and rumbled something incoherent. Then he stood and gave Praktash a wink.  
”If ye're done havin' a laugh at me, I'm gonna take a piss.” Praktash took a deep swig from the skin to distract himself as Margzat strode over to the bagronk hole that had been drilled into a corner of the room. He couldn't resist sneaking a peek though, something Margzat had obviously been expecting because he rewarded him with one of those 'come-hither' looks that had made Praktash's knees go weak back in the drug store. Now he was happy that he was already lying down. _I've had too much to drink already!_ And of course the bastard had to give him a full frontal view too before tucking his dick back in. Praktash gave him a critical glance.  
”You done wavin' that thing around?”  
”If you're done peekin' at it,” Margzat replied with a grin.  
”Spoilsport. You're takin' all the fun outta it.”  
Margzat laughed at that as he returned. But instead of going to his own spot, he snuggled up behind Praktash and flung an arm around his shoulders. Praktash tensed.  
”Get a room, will ya?”  
”Already did. Yours,” Margzat grinned.  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”Bloody Uruks, think they own the world,” he grumbled jokingly.  
”You're one o' us too, ya know.”  
”Am I?” Praktash toyed with the collar. ”I'm more _this_ than anythin' else. Easier for me than goin' back to bein' one of ya.”  
”Whaddya mean?”  
”Y'know, an Uruk. A soldier. One of the pack. Never suited me, an' even less so now.”  
”Ya make it sound like we're bloody animals.” Margzat laughed and grabbed his hips, pulling him closer.  
”What the _fuck_ are ya doin'?!” Praktash growled.  
”Don't tell me you've never cuddled before.”  
”'Cuddled'? The fuck izzat?”  
Margzat retreated a little with a strange look. ”It's... I don't wanna fuck ya or anythin'. Well I do, but... not now. I just wanna... hold ya.” For a brief moment, the giant Uruk looked extremely vulnerable. Then it passed, and Margzat laughed. ”Nar, just jokin'. Wanna get s'more booze?”  
”Nar,” Praktash said.  
Margzat shrugged and began to rise.  
”Wait,” Praktash said. As Margzat hesitated, Praktash relaxed and rolled over on his side. _Time to gamble._ ”I'm fine with it. Really. C'mon.”  
For a moment, Margzat thought the little guy was joking. Then he relaxed as well and fell back onto the strawbags with a sigh. Praktash began to understand what Graznikh must feel like every time he grabbed him from behind as Margzat more or less sucked him up into his embrace. Praktash had never been spooned by a bigger guy before, especially not someone like Margzat, who could crush his neck with a single bite. It felt real odd, but at the same time it felt like a tiny but important piece that he hadn't even noticed was missing clicked into place as he dissolved into the warm hug.  
”Been too bloody long since last.” Margzat's content sigh was like a hurricane, blowing a few strands of his hair across Praktash's face. Praktash couldn't help but purr a little.  
  
They simply lay like that for a long while, watching the fire dance in the brazier and listening to the din of the garrison and the wind that howled outside. _If this bastard had scooped me up from the streets of Blog Shakâmb an' given me a hug, instead o' those bloody idiots from garrison 26, I'd've rushed off to don the armour the same bloody night. Thank the Eye he didn't. If he had, I woulda never met Graznikh._  
Praktash felt torn. He had no words for what he felt for Graznikh, but he knew that it was special. Despite all the fuckbuddies he'd had, none of them had ever looked at him the way he did. Graznikh was the first to look past the Uruk, the homicidal rapist and the drugdealer and see only Praktash. The first to face him like an equal, without power plays. The first to go out of his way to help him, even save his life, without ever asking for anything in return. The first one to _trust_. And despite all the pain and the fear, he had taught Praktash to do the same. Praktash doubted he could ever have that with Margzat. He might be good looking but he had been a complete bastard so far, and Praktash wasn't even sure he liked anything about him anymore. Well, except this, here, now. This was good.  
Praktash twitched a little as he felt something touch the piercings in his eartip.  
”I really like these,” Margzat rumbled. ”An' the tattoos. Real nice touch.”  
”Got any o' your own?” Praktash asked.  
”Nar,” Margzat replied. ”Skin's too dark, they won't show. Never thought 'bout rings or spikes. Got a few scars, that's all. An' the tongue, but that was an accident.”  
”Hnh.” _I wonder if I could mix something up to get past that?_ Praktash's thoughts were interrupted as Margzat began fingering his spike piercings again, and he had to bit his lip to keep from moaning. His ears were incredibly sensitive, and the piercings made them even more so. Then the bastard grabbed the smallest, uppermost spike that pierced his very eartip and _twisted_ it and just blew off the top of his head.  
”Oh fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Praktash groaned loudly and unconsciously humped the pillow he was lying on. Margzat's eyes grew wide and he let go. Then he grinned.  
”That good, huh? Musta hurt a bit to put 'em in.”  
”A bit,” Praktash said faintly and swallowed. Thankfully Margzat didn't continue his exploration.  
”I once knew a guy who had a ring in his dick.”  
”In his _dick_?” Praktash winced. ”Whatever the fuck for?”  
He felt Margzat shrug. ”Felt good, I guess. Sure did when fuckin'. It sorta hung underneath, ya know? An' when he moved it inside... just tickled real nice.” He chuckled a little.  
It took a while for Praktash's mind to register what he'd just said. ”Wait... You've been topped?”  
”What?” Margzat asked with a grin. ”Didn't think I had it in me?”  
”I just thought... y'know, big guy like you an' all...”  
”An' what the fuck does size hafta do with it?” he rumbled. ”Look, I know some guys take that shit real serious, but I ain't one of 'em. Topped, topper, I don't care. Doesn't make ya a better warrior. Or worse, for that matter. Whatever ya fancy.”  
  
Praktash grinned into the strawbag. _That was bloody unexpected!_ They fell silent again for a while and Margzat kept nuzzling his neck and burying his face in Praktash's red hair, purring deeply and sending pleasant little shivers down his back.  
”The fuck happened to the bastard krîtar?” Praktash asked quietly in a teasing tone.  
”It's an act,” Margzat rumbled. ”Everyone bloody knows it.”  
”What ya did to that guy in the garrison was no fuckin' act.”  
”'Alright, not _all_ an act. But it's not... It's not all. Not all o' _me_. Some things... well, ya just gotta hide 'em. Ya know..?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash sighed. ”Yeah, I know.”  
”Ya still pissed at me? For what happened on the sparrin' grounds.”  
”Nar,” Praktash said with a grin. ”Watchin' Graznikh drag yer arse in the dirt was worth it.”  
”Ya saw that?” Margzat laughed out loud as Praktash nodded. ”That little guy's a fuckin' badger! Same colour, same bloody temper. Has he ever lost a fight?”  
”Oh, he has. Went through shit I wouldn't wish 'pon my worst enemy. But he came through.” Then he frowned a little. ”Whazza badger?”  
”Tiny li'l critters, live in the foothills in th' Eastern Desolation. Striped black an' white, with a temper like a hungover troll an' a bite strong enough to snap yer leg off like so.” He snapped his big fingers and Praktash twitched at the sound. ”Badger-baitin's a popular sport in Lithlad.”  
Margzat propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Praktash. ”So... first trip outside, huh?”  
”Yeah... Went to th' Gate once, and Morgai, but that's it.”  
”Just once?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”It ended badly. Never had a reason to go anywhere before that. I had all I needed in Lugburz.”  
”All ya wanted?”  
”Nar, but I didn't know it at th' time.”  
Margzat fell silent and Praktash could see him watching him from the corner of his eye. He kept his own eyes steady on the fire, too nervous about everything to dare to meet the krîtar's eyes. Too afraid of what he might find there.  
”So... ye're not pissed.”  
Praktash shook his head.  
”But ya don't like me.”  
”Ya haven't really given me a reason to.”  
”An' if I said I'm thinkin' ya do?” _Okay, that was just too much!_  
”Look, ya fuckin' bastard!” Praktash shouted in his face. ”You've been a complete fuckin' arsehole this whole trip, you've been pissin' me off or makin' me look the fool at every turn o' the road and now ya do nice shit like this an' confuse me all over an' claim ya think I _like_ ya?!”  
He snarled as Margzat just gave him that obnoxious grin, and Praktash could feel the rage building. What the fuck was _wrong_ with this guy?  
Margzat's fangs slowly inched closer but Praktash held his ground. He was _not_ going to give in to his stupid fear tactics. Staring deeply into those dark red eyes, he could feel his fangs begin to clatter as he felt Margzat's breath on his lips. But Praktash had an amazing control over his bite reflex, the kind that other Uruks could only dream of. His head shot forward on its own and Margzat caught his fangs in his own just as easily as the first time. _What the fuck happened to my bloody self-control?!_  
The big Uruk held him fast, but he didn't invade Praktash's mouth this time. He just held him there, tugging gently every once in a while. Eventually Praktash couldn't stand it any longer and reached out with his tongue, licking the inside of Margzat's fangs. The split tongue came up to meet his and soon they were kissing passionately, tugging hard, clawing each others' backs and purring loudly. Praktash didn't care that his shirt got ruined; he just couldn't stay angry with such a good kisser.  
  
  
”'I am the shadows'?! Seriously?” Graznikh couldn't stop laughing.  
”Shaddap you bastard,” Sulmurz growled. ”Ya lied to me!”  
”No, I _warned_ ya,” Graznikh replied once he managed to breathe somewhat calmer.  
”Ya said she was horny as a warg bitch!”  
”I also said she's got the temper to match.” He grinned at the furious Captain. ”Never seen a warg bitch in heat, have ya?”  
”No,” Sulmurz grunted indignantly.  
”When wargs court, the bitch tries to kill the male an' he has to fight her down an' force her to submit afore she lets him hump her. The males're smaller an' weaker, so it ain't unusual for males to get killed during the courtin' process.” He chuckled as Sulmurz' face fell. ”Be happy she only scared ya a little.”  
”'A little'? She made me piss my fuckin' pants! Oh, come _on_!” he exclaimed as Graznikh began laughing again. ”It ain't that funny!”  
”Uhuuu,” was Graznikh's only reply. ”Ow, my guts!”  
”How d' _you_ do it?” Sulmurz asked, suddenly thoughtful.  
”Do what?”  
”Get into her pants. How d'ya _not_ piss yer pants if that's what ya face every time?”  
”She's not always like that. She can be a real sweetie too, ya just hafta catch 'er at the right moment.”  
”An' how the fuck d'ya know when that is?” Sulmurz groaned as Graznikh tapped his temple with a claw. ”Great... What's it like anyway? Havin'... _that_ in there?” He narrowed his eyes. ”What d'ya feel right now?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”She's angry, but ya already know that. There's somethin' disturbin' her as well, probably somethin' that happened on the road.”  
”Yeah, but what's it _feel_ like?”  
”Right now it's like... Like a poundin' headache, the kind where ya just wanna lie in a dark, cool cave. Only without the pain. And... something like fire as well. Like fire lickin' the skin, but without burnin' it.”  
”An' how d'ya know what that means?”  
”I don't know. It's just there, an' I know. Can't tell how.”  
”'At's fuckin' creepy,” Sulmurz said with a shudder.  
”Thought so too at first,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”But I got used to it. Don't think much of it now, except for those bloody invasions.”  
They drank in silence for a while. Then Sulmurz's face cracked up into a big grin. ”What a lady.”  
Graznikh snickered a little.  
”No, I'm serious,” Sulmurz said. ” _What_ a fuckin' lady!”  
”That didn't make ya back off, huh?”  
”Nope,” Sulmurz grinned. ”I'm gonna get that armour off, don't care if it's the last thing I do. What a _lady!_ ”  
  
Praktash's armour hit the wall, followed by Margzat's vambraces and both Uruks' clothes in short succession. As Margzat wrestled him back down onto the strawbags, Praktash half expected to get rolled over and humped right away. But Margzat only ran his hands over his body, clawing and scratching. The smaller Uruk was soon squirming, laughing and gasping.  
”Well, aren't you a happy one?” Margzat chuckled.  
”Tickles!!” Praktash managed to blurt out before he lost it again.  
”Really? Thought that was a shara thing,” Margzat said.  
”Shara?” Praktash asked once he could speak again.  
”Roundears who aren't tarks. My patrol once killed one of 'em that way. I'm thinkin' his heart failed or somethin'. I'm not sayin' yer skin's like theirs,” he added quickly when Praktash frowned.  
”I know it's different,” Praktash mumbled. ”Just didn't... didn't think it was _that_ different.”  
”Yer skin's way thicker than theirs,” Margzat assured him. ”A shara woulda been bleedin' by now with all the scratchin' I gave ya. I like it, by the way. Thick an' soft. Supple-like...” He began moving his hands again but this time he didn't scratch. Instead he ran his palms over Praktash's chest and abs, kneading and massaging the tense muscles.  
”Where'd ya learn to do this?” Praktash asked with a pleased wince. He could feel himself growing hard again.  
”Shut up an' enjoy,” Margzat rumbled and Praktash had to laugh. Then the krîtar grabbed his semi-erect cock and the laughter got caught in his throat. After some mutual fondling and rubbing, Margzat left to fetch something from his bags. Praktash closed his eyes and enjoyed the fluttering anticipation of what would undoubtedly come.  
”Oh fuck my _life_!” Margzat exclaimed. The big Uruk looked so disappointed that for a moment, Praktash thought he was about to cry.  
”What's wrong?”  
”Some bastard's been nickin' my lube! There's barely enough here for a wank.”  
Now it was Praktash's turn to grin smugly. He leaned over to ceremoniously open one of his belt bags and handed Margzat a brand new lube jar. ”Keep it, big guy. I can always make more.”  
Margzat stared at him. ” _You're_ the one makin' this stuff?!”  
”Earns me a fortune,” Praktash chuckled.  
”I can bloody imagine,” Margzat replied with a big grin. They stared at each other for a while, both eager and hesitant to move on.  
”So...” Margzat began.  
”Yeah...”  
”Um...”  
Praktash was the one who dared to drop the question. ”...Top or bottom?”  
”Whatever ya fancy,” Margzat purred.  
  
Praktash almost considered topping, but no. He'd been _dying_ for this moment, he wasn't going to goblin out now. Even so, he couldn't help but stutter a little. ”B-bottom.”  
Margzat lifted a hairless eyebrow. ”Ya sure? I'm a big guy.”  
”Yeah, I know,” Praktash said breathlessly. Margzat gave him one of _those_ leers as he crawled closer on all fours. Praktash almost began to back away at the sight and he trembled a little as he turned his back to him. He expected claws but when he took a closer look at Margzat's hands, he saw that he big guy had trimmed his thumbs. _Well, that's considerate._ He made himself comfortable on the strawbags and squirmed a little as one of said thumbs began sliding between his buttocks.  
”Still pissed at me, are ya,” Margzat murmured in his ear as he gently slid it inside.  
”Don't ruin this now,” Praktash gasped and forced himself to keep his voice down as black fingers teased and tweaked his spike piercings. He was _not_ going to moan and holler for the whole garrison to hear!  
”Yeah, definitely pissed,” Margzat continued as he thrust his thumb in slowly but steadily. Praktash turned his head to growl at him but the look on Margzat's face combined with the fact that he just found _that_ spot turned the growl to a meek whimper in the middle. Margzat chuckled, then he sat up and gave Praktash's dick some love with his hand before coating his other thumb. Praktash closed his eyes and enjoyed as he got stretched wider than he ever had before. Suddenly Margzat unexpectedly hit the edge and Praktash let out a loud pained grunt. Margzat stopped immediately.  
”Bukrazikh? Praktash? Ya okay?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash replied. ”Just pretty much all I can take there.”  
”Ye're gonna have to stretch more'n that if ye're gonna take me in.”  
”Ya gotta be kid-” Praktash began but his eyes grew big as he spotted the head of Margzat's erection. ”That thing's a fuckin' _batterin' ram_!”  
Margzat laughed. ”Yeah, I kinda wish I didn't have to be a giant everywhere. 'At's why I learned to like gettin' topped, wouldn't get any otherwise. Most guys just back the fuck out at this point. No shame if ya change yer mind.”  
Praktash gave him a thoughtful look. Then he flashed a grin and reached for the lube jar. ”I think I know how to do this.” Margzat began grinning like an idiot as Praktash gave him a hand or two.  
”Oh, this is real sweet!” he purred. ”Even if it doesn't work, it's worth it just to see this.”  
Praktash gave him a seductive grin and licked his fangs as he fingered himself. Soon he had four of his own fingers plus both Margzat's thumbs up his arse.  
”I'm thinkin' 'at might be enough,” Margzat said after a while.  
”G'won then, give it a try!”  
Margzat leered as he took a big dollop of lube in his hand and began stroking his dick. Praktash couldn't help fingering himself a little extra as he watched. Sure, Margzat's cock was huge, but it was completely smooth, no ridges or lumps anywhere. It was also tapered, slightly smaller at the top and wider at the base. Combined, it made Praktash think that this might just work. But even so, he felt a little intimidated as the giant approached his rear.  
  
Even with all the stretching, there was still quite a bit of a resistance as Margzat began to work his way inside. Praktash gritted his teeth and relaxed all he could, but Margzat stopped pushing after a while.  
”This ain't workin' li'l guy, I'm sorry.”  
”Shaddap, you ain't tryin' hard enough!”  
”I ain't gonna split ya open just to get a fuck.”  
”Then hold the fuck still an' let me do it!” _I'm not givin' up now! I_ will _get topped by this guy, I don't care if it's the last thing I do!_ Praktash planted his feet wide and dug his toes into the strawbags. Then he arched his back to ease things along, groaned and rolled his hips as he began to push up against him. There was the strangest sensation; like something _did_ tear, but then the head just slipped inside so fast that Margzat almost fell down on top of him from surprise. Praktash bit his lip so hard it began to bleed.  
”Well, aren't you a determined li'l bugger,” Margzat chuckled in his ear. Praktash felt lightheaded and gave him an insane grin, feeling completely stretched to capacity. Then he remembered that the damn thing tapered. He struggled to breathe as he was impaled slowly, filled deeper and stretched wider than he had ever been before. Graznikh was no small guy, but he couldn't hold a candle to this one.  
”I can't fuckin' believe this,” Margzat gasped. ”Ya okay? Hurts?”  
”A little,” Praktash gasped,” But I think... I think it'll be alright, once ya-”  
”Knock, knock.” Margzat's purr filled his ears like rolling thunder as he began to thrust and Praktash had to laugh and groan at the same time. It _did_ hurt, but every time he drove the battering ram into him, there was a little less of it. Soon Praktash had to bite the strawbag. It tasted only a little better than the Morigost slop but Praktash didn't care.  
”You a biter, huh?” Margzat grunted.  
”Uh-huh,” Praktash groaned into the strawbag.  
”Here, bite this,” he growled and yanked his head up by the hair, placing an arm below his face.  
”That's your sword arm,” Praktash protested, clenching his jaws to fight the bite reflex.  
”I don't care,” Margzat growled. ”Make it good!” He thrust harder and Praktash lost control. Margzat made a sound that was half-way between a growl and a roar as Praktash's fangs sunk into the flesh in his arm and he came so hard that Praktash almost thought he'd dislocated his hips. He was still hard though and soon began thrusting again. Praktash took a little longer but soon spent himself as well.  
”Had enough yet?” Margzat chuckled hoarsely and slowed down to an agonisingly slow pace.  
”Fuck no!” Praktash growled and bucked up against him. He dug his hands and feet into the strawbags for leverage as Margzat started thrusting hard again.  
  
Since he didn't need to hold on anymore, Margzat had his hands free. He grabbed both of Praktash's ears, twisting the spikes until Praktash didn't know whether to howl in pleasure or shout at him to stop. So he did both.  
”Fuck you 'Zat, I can't take this!” he roared.  
”Well you just gotta deal with it!” Margzat growled back and sank his fangs into the nape of his neck as well, and Praktash just _died_.  
He barely took note as the strawbags were shredded by his hands and the brazier got kicked over. Burning oil and booze-soaked straw was not a good combination and the fire spread with an almost explosive force, momentarily shaking both Uruks out of their euphoria. After rolling them both out of the way, Margzat briefly looked to make sure their gear was outside of the fire's reach before slamming Praktash up against the wall. He didn't even stop thrusting.  
”But-” Praktash gasped.  
”Fuck that shit,” Margzat groaned and quickly pushed Praktash beyond all capacity for coherent thought again. Even his bite reflex stopped functioning; he just took whatever the giant Uruk threw at him with open mouth and bared fangs, not giving a shit about what kind of sounds came out of him. This was just beyond good.  
  
After the third or fourth climax, both Praktash and Margzat had spent themselves completely. Margzat sank down to his knees and caught Praktash as he landed in his lap with an exhausted grunt. The fire had died down and the room was now filled with a darkness so deep that not even the Uruks' night vision could pierce it, but Praktash didn't care. He was too busy being gently rocked in a deep, slimy pool of _FUCK YEAH._ After a while, Margzat began laughing quietly. Praktash looked up into his red eyes with an inquisitive smile.  
”I'm thinkin' I'll be needin' a new pillow,” the big Uruk chuckled. ”You fuckin' torched the place!” Praktash glanced around the dark room and began laughing as well. His laughter fed Margzat's own and soon they were both roaring with laughter. Praktash turned on Margzat and pounced him weakly, felling them both into the ash pile that used to be strawbags and sending soot and burned straw flying.  
After a while, Margzat rose and lit one of the unused torches that lay in an unburned corner, still chuckling over the state of his quarters. Praktash stretched and purred contentedly.  
Suddenly there was a loud, indignant and distinctly Uruky voice from outside.  
”Hey, these li'l guys got tables! An' _chairs!_ ” Margzat's expression turned to one of absolute horror.  
”FUCK!!!” he roared, grabbed his sword and shield and nothing else and rushed out of the room.  
  
  
Záhovar sat on one of the strawbags in her temporary quarters, writing something on a piece of parchment. Graznikh sat crosslegged on the floor beside her with a new braiding project in his lap, enjoying the unusual peace and quiet. He was going to make a whip; a little something for Sulmurz who kept complaining that the locally made ones just didn't hold up for the use he put them to. Both looked up as the door opened and Graznikh's face fell. Záhovar's eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign that she was every bit as shocked as he felt. In came Praktash, covered with soot and ash from top to toe, bleeding from his lip and from numerous bite marks, his shirt completely ruined down the back and with an insane grin on his face.  
”What the _fuck_ happened to you?!”  
”Fuck!” Praktash snarled happily in reply. Then he grabbed the rawhide in Graznikh's lap, threw it against the wall beside Záhovar, grabbed him in turn and threw him into the makeshift bed. Then he threw himself after. Graznikh cursed and fought but Praktash refused to let go, cuddling him mercilessly while giggling like an idiot. Graznikh gave up and let him have his way, and eventually the maniacal Uruk seemed to calm down a bit.  
”That good, huh? Margzat?” Praktash only nodded with an extatic grin. ”I thought ya hated the guy?”  
”I did!” Praktash managed to say.  
”An' now..?”  
”I _don't_!” he squealed and let out a giggle.  
Graznikh began to laugh and gently bit his chin. ”Aw buddy,” he teased, ”you're crushin', aren't ya?”  
”Fuck off, I'm not!”  
”Can see ya bluuushiiin'!”  
Praktash howled and hid his face in a pillow. Záhovar simply stared at them with a blank face. Graznikh noticed her apparent confusion and decided to help her out a little.  
He dug deep into his memory and recalled a morning long ago when he and Whindaër had awoken in their little camp somewhere in Dunland and found themselves caught in an unexpected snowfall. As they dug out the camp, he had caught her from behind and shoved a fistful of snow inside her shirt. How she had screamed! A wild struggle had broken out where he had eventually come out on top, wrestling her down onto the furs with a loud purr and laying down on top of her so she couldn't escape. Then they had simply laid there, heart to heart, looking into each others' eyes. The way he had felt then and there, so happy and complete, so filled with _her_ ; _that_ feeling. With some difficulty, he managed to hold onto the feeling while letting the memory itself fade. He gave Záhovar the same look he'd given Whin back then as he pushed the feeling towards her.  
  
Záhovar whimpered and the steel quill fell to the floor with a clink, followed by the parchment. Her face cracked up into a smile that seemed to not quite fit her face and as she met his eyes, she wore an expression Graznikh had never thought or dared to hope to see on her again. He let himself fall as the feeling ricochetted back at him, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Záhovar broke eyecontact with a bewildered frown and Graznikh could smell her fear. She rose and quickly strode out of the room. Praktash still held him tight so he couldn't follow, instead he stared at the door and wallowed in the pain of rejection.  
”Mmh,” Praktash mumbled after a while and gave him a sleepy, happy smile. The smile faded as he spotted his buddy's expression. ”You okay?” Graznikh shook his head. Praktash looked around and saw that Záhovar was gone. ”What happened?” As Graznikh told him, he gave him a hug and let him go. ”Go after her then.”  
”I can't,” Graznikh whispered. ”Don't have the guts for it. Not today.” He laid down and let Praktash hold him.  
  
Záhovar stormed through the corridors, ever upwards, until she found the open place near the top of the mountain where the outlook over Nurza-Shûk was. The guards posted there were sitting around a campfire, chatting quietly and clutching their cloaks to shield against the wind. As they spotted the High Officer, they squeaked.  
_”Get out of here!”_ Záhovar shrieked in the Black Speech and the guards scattered like scavenger crows. Soon she was alone.  
She looked out over the wide pass, thoughts churning in her head. She felt broken. Graznikh was no sorcerer, he had not the slightest skill with magic of any kind. Even so, he had somehow briefly thrown the most powerful mind-control that Záhovar had ever experienced on her. She knew her lessons well; Gîrakûn had made sure that she knew how the spell felt, in what ways it could approach and take over. Any feeling could be used, but some were stronger than others. Pain and fear were crude and too often resisted. Pleasure and attraction were efficient, if one knew the target's preferences. But attachment was the most insidious method. Few were those who truly did not need anyone; who could stay perfectly content without company of any kind. To have someone who truly understood you, who could be trusted and depended upon; that was a powerful need, one that could be used and, when used successfully, could completely dominate a person's mind. Or destroy it.  
It was sheer luck that it had faded so quickly. Or was it? A part of her had _wanted_ it. The moment the incomprehensible feeling had reached her, her self had reached out like a starving person towards a feast; desperately trying to hold onto it, to take it in and make it a part of her. But it had slipped from her grasp like dry sand through fingers, and something inside that both was and wasn't her had forbidden her from keeping even the smallest grain.  
She frowned as she tried to analyse what had happened, but came to no conclusion. She looked up and for a brief moment, the thick clouds parted and the Moon shone down upon the outlook.  
Záhovar stared at the white disc in the sky, its light unlike anything she had ever seen. When in Khand, the weather had been cloudy more often than not and she had been too busy to ever take note of the Moon or stars there. For some reason, it was different here, where it so rarely reached the blasted, tortured earth. The skin on her hand glowed softly as she held it out into the pure, pale light. As the clouds churned and veiled it once more, Záhovar felt sad, as if she had lost something important. But she could not tell what she had lost or why.  
_  
Even the Shadows yearn for the light. Even as they loathe it and falter in it, they long for what they can never have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gakh-chem-udu – 367  
> Goblin out – there are no chickens in Mordor!
> 
> A note on names and numbers:  
> All Orc soldiers in Mordor are registered at birth or when they officially join the ranks. The combination of name, letter and numbers tells the administration their origin, age, gender, lineage, breeding status and career. New codes are added frequently in the personal dossiers of the Census Archive, but only the first letter and four first numbers are used for identification on a daily basis. 
> 
> Common Orcs have the combination letter (denoting place of origin) and two numbers. Graznikh's number is D (Dunland) gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak (thirtysix, fortyfive). Things are complicated by the fact that there are several different words for every number. For example, the number 4 is called 'fahr' when applied to Orcs outside the breeding program (not born in Mordor) and 'ruk' when applied to those within. So if Graznikh had been born in Lugburz, his number would have been LB nam-go-ulm, ruk-go-krak.
> 
> The Black Uruks of Blog Shakâmb (like Praktash and Margzat) get the combination 'letter number-number number-number'. Praktash's number is BS (Blog Shakâmb) nog-nog udu-ruk (eight-eight seven-four). This means that he was number 8 of his litter, emerged from pit 8 and was in the seventh training group in bootcamp 4. Margzat's number is BS ulm-nog udu-krith; sixth of litter, pit 8, seventh training group in bootcamp 9.


	5. Borders Of Salt

Praktash was busy with Margzat, Sulmurz was trying to organise his departure and Záhovar had more or less isolated herself, so Graznikh was left alone for the few days it took to get everything sorted out. He took Akûl outside and began to train the warg the way he had trained Zuzar; by hunting on foot. He also brought Mikbork along to test the snuffler's skills. Armed with bows, throwing knives and fangs, the three hunters roamed the jagged cliffs and southern foothills of the Maegond spur and made life a fleeting and unsure thing for the local wildlife. Having been penned up all of his life, Akûl had never learned to hunt the way Zuzar had and was more eager to play with his prey than actually down it. Graznikh let him do so; play was a good way to hone his instincts and reactions.  
Mikbork turned out to be an excellent archer and Sulmurz had not lied when he bragged about his nose and ears. One evening they managed to track down a mountain goat; they were rare in the northern Black Land but were apparently abundant in the southern mountains. Akûl outran it and held it at bay while Mikbork took it out with a well-placed arrow.  
”Where'd ya learn to shoot like that?” Graznikh asked him as they dug into a rare feast of fresh goat meat.  
”Got hungry,” the snuffler replied as he gnawed on a haunch. ”Had to learn or stay hungry.”  
”Ever been in a real fight? A big one?”  
Mikbork shook his head, suddenly looking anxious.  
”Don't worry,” Graznikh grinned. ”I don't expect ya to go in close. No use puttin' ya to something you ain't made for. The Uruks'll be the shock troops and the others'll be on the flanks. Archers stay behind an' pepper the enemy with arrows. Think ya could do that?”  
The snuffler nodded vigorously.  
”An' you,” Graznikh said as he turned to Akûl, ”will stick with me.”  
The warg grinned at that. ”Akûlam. Shain raz graznikhi.”  
”Yup,” Graznikh replied with a grin. ”I'm the knife an' you're the ice. We'll make 'em fear the avalanche.”  
Akûl had been outfitted with a harness before they left Nurza-Shûk, but Graznikh had refrained from riding him. He didn't want to overexert him since he was untrained, but he mounted a few times just to let the warg get used to the feel of the extra weight. Akûl turned out to be a much easier first ride than his sire had been. Akûl had seen Warg riders many times and knew what was expected of him. The third night even Mikbork got a ride back to the fortress, a gesture that left the little Orc shivering with both fear and excitement as Graznikh left him to finally track down Záhovar.  
  
The corridor leading to the lookout point was deserted, meaning that she was up there once more. Graznikh gently touched the bond to avoid startling her as he approached, but she made no outward sign of having noticed him. The previous times she had sent him away as soon as he reached out, so this was an improvement.  
”I'm sorry,” he said quietly as he stopped beside her. ”I dunno what I've done wrong, but I'm sorry all the same.”  
For a long while, neither of them moved or spoke. But then a whisper reached Graznikh's ears, so quiet that he barely heard it. ”Who am I?”  
”You're Záhovar.”  
”And what is Záhovar?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”I am no Orc,” Záhovar whispered, ”no goblin or Black Uruk. I am neither Dwarf nor Elf and neither tark nor shara; no Khandian or Rhûnlander, no Man or Woman from Mûmakan or Koronande.”  
”You're a High Officer,” Graznikh tried but Záhovar shook her head.  
”They are all Men. I am...” She lifted a hand to touch her ear; it had once tapered gently into a leaflike shape but was now cut, distorted and jagged. Marked like livestock. Graznikh suddenly felt afraid. He removed her hand and held it against his armoured chest.  
”Ye're _you_ ,” he whispered back. ”That's enough for me.”  
”A knife in the dark, cutting me in two,” she whispered. ”A dark sky, churning with black clouds. Golden, dappled light on the horizon.” She turned to meet his eyes for the first time in many nights. As she did so, she opened the bond and let Graznikh feel her distress and anxiety. ”A black, slick wall inside, keeping me from everything that should mean something but doesn't. What is it I have lost? Who _am_ I?” Her eyes were wide with fear. Graznikh placed a hand on her neck and pressed his forehead against hers.  
”Ya know I can't answer that.”  
”My skin glows in the moonlight.”  
”Yeah, I know.” He smiled. ”I think it's pretty. Mîr akûlhân.”  
”Why?”  
”I don't know.” Graznikh sighed a little. There was no point in getting into that discussion again. ”What happened in Blog Shakâmb? I only know what I picked up when ya...”  
Záhovar took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself. ”Gîrakûn tried to dominate my mind. She would have succeeded had you not been there.”  
”Glad I could help.” He smiled as he spotted the twitch in the corner of her mouth. ”But there's more, right? You've been real upset 'bout something lately, an' it ain't Sulmurz.”  
Záhovar nodded, but did not elaborate. ”I cannot tell you more, not yet.”  
”Right. Better to focus on the mission.” Záhovar nodded, but Graznikh wasn't done with her yet. ”I luv ya.”  
She frowned. ”What is the meaning behind that word?”  
”That's what I tried to show ya the other night, when Praktash came back lookin' like he'd gone three rounds 'gainst a warg on fire an' lost.” He chuckled a little at the memory.  
Záhovar frowned. ”You... did not try to dominate my mind?”  
”What?” Graznikh let out a confused chuckle. ”Nar, ya know I can't do that. I'm no sorcerer. I just... tried to show how I feel. Felt... feel.”  
”You feel that way? When you... look at me?”  
”Aye...” Graznikh looked down for a moment, and when he met her eyes again there was an adoring, almost worshipping gleam in them. Záhovar stared, wide-eyed, at him for a moment before quickly turning away. Graznikh frowned. ”What's wrong?”  
Záhovar tried to calm her hammering heart. It had been too much like Kaelun, and the infected scars were still fresh in her mind. ”Do not look at me like that again.”  
”What?” Graznikh couldn't believe his ears. ”I don't wanna look at ya any other way! I luv ya, I wanna be near ya, I wanna protect ya, I wanna worship ya, I wanna-”  
”DO NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!!!” There was no power in the shrill scream, but Graznikh still took a step back. The bond immediately turned dull and silent as she shut him out.  
”You will not speak to me like that again, and you will not _look_ at me like that. Stop trying to make me feel in ways I cannot. And stop pushing your own obsession at me. It is intrusive and unwelcome.”  
”Obse-”  
”Leave,” Záhovar hissed, and the look she gave him before she turned her back to him turned Graznikh's insides to ice. He took a step back, then another. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then he turned and ran.  
  
Praktash felt high. It was as if the ground kept bouncing him back up into the air with every step and he couldn't stop grinning. Margzat hadn't changed much; he kept throwing jabs and tried to piss him off whenever they met in public, but the way he did it had changed. Every now and then he would throw in some sweet compliments in the middle of the insults, masked and worded so that Praktash was the only one who got it. Of course Praktash still pretended to get upset about it, but now he could see the fondness and dark humour shining from those dark red eyes even as they roared insults at each other. And the way Margzat wrestled him down and cuddled the shit out of him every time they ended up alone told Praktash that there was indeed a lot more to the 'bastard krîtar' than met the eye.  
But despite his infatuation, he made sure not to abandon Graznikh. His pale little buddy was the first and would always be so, no matter how many others there were. Praktash finally understood what Graznikh meant by not being able to choose; there simply _was_ no choice. Both were there, filling a place all their own, none could outweigh or replace the other. Now Praktash made his way to the High Officer's quarters in the hopes that Graznikh would be in the mood to get topped. That hope drained from him the moment he spotted him.  
Graznikh had beaten his fists bloody against the wall and Praktash quickly caught him from behind to keep him from hurting himself any more. The moment Graznikh felt the Uruk's strong embrace he collapsed against him, gasping as though he was in extreme pain. If anything Praktash had learned from reading his buddy's expressions was true he probably was, and not because of his injured fists. Praktash began leading him back down the stairs, and when Graznikh refused to walk on his own he simply lifted him and flung him over his shoulder.  
”Hey, 'Zat! Can we borrow your chambers for a while?”  
The krîtar threw the broken Orc a concerned look and nodded. ”Another fit, huh?”  
”Yeah, sorta.”  
”Lemme know if ya need anythin'.”  
”Booze,” Praktash said, ”an' lots of it.”  
”I don't wanna drink,” Graznikh whimpered later as Praktash pulled him into his lap in Margzat's quarters and shoved a drinking skin into his hand.  
”I don't care,” the Uruk growled. ”You'll drink an' you'll talk. What happened?”  
”I'm losin' her,” he whispered and struggled to keep his face from contorting with grief. ”I told... Told her I... wanted her, an' she'd have none o' it. Said I was... _intrusive_ an' not welcome. Told me to shut up about it all. I can't...” As Graznikh pressed his face against Praktash's chest with a low wail, the Uruk frowned. _That doesn't sound like Záhovar. She seemed just fine when we left Lugburz, or as fine as that one can get._ He tried to recall everything that had happened since. S _he went to Blog Shakâmb an' met the witch. Something bad happened there; that's when Graznikh had that fit. An' when he snapped out of it, he said..._ Praktash felt a chill run down his spine. Mind-control. He knew more of that than he wanted to remember. Of losing control over his own body, of intrusion, violation and humiliation, of whispered perversions, of both hating and loving it until the two emotions mingled and became the same. _Skai. What if the witch got through with it? What if Záhovar... Skai!_ The thought of his master falling to that made his skin crawl. _Better not tell Graznikh,_ he thought. _He'd just get even more pissed._  
”She had a tough time, remember?” Praktash said. ”It'll take time to sort your mind out over somethin' like that. Give her time, buddy. I'm sure she'll come around an' apologise once she's set her head straight.”  
There was a knock on the door. After checking with Graznikh that it was okay and calling for whoever it was to come in, Margzat stuck his head in.  
”The call's gone out,” he rumbled. ”Time to move.”  
  
Graznikh refused to return to the High Officer's chamber, so Praktash went up to fetch their gear. Záhovar seemed too clear of mind to be under the mind control spell, but Praktash did not let that fool him. He knew quite well how subtle it could be.  
When he came down to the gate, Graznikh was chatting with Sulmurz as the Uruk uzhâk moved outside. Akûl lay at his side, watching the Uruks. The former Captain had picked two of his closest to follow him besides Mikbork, and he introduced them as Ghakû and Kraash. Ghakû was an older fellow from the East with dusky brown skin and hair who carried a spear and a shield in the shape of a crescent. Kraash was a young recruit from the West who had only been in Mordor a few years. He had not yet replaced his old tribal gear and was armed with a rather nasty-looking poleaxe with a jagged edge and a hook on the back.  
”For tearin' riders off their mounts,” he explained when Graznikh asked. Sulmurz himself had a short metal bow with a wrapped leather handle adorned with fur and a full quiver strapped to his back. He also carried a scimitar at his belt.  
”Who's gonna take over the garrison when ya leave?” Graznikh asked.  
”Don't care,” Sulmurz said with a shrug. ”Let 'em fight it out, it ain't my business anymore.”  
”You're a nasty one, ya know that?”  
Sulmurz's only reply was a bloodthirsty grin. Mûrnaluzh, who Graznikh remembered as Margzat's second-in-command, came over and handed out crude leather cloaks to everyone.  
”Keeps the sun off,” he explained.  
Kraash winced. ”We're gonna march in the sun!? Oh fuck my life...”  
Záhovar swept by them without a word, leading her black horse and mounting once she was outside the gate. The Uruks formed up into three tight lines while the Orcs and the warg formed their own a little to the side. Záhovar kept to the other side and Praktash made sure he got a place next to Graznikh.  
”Move out,” Záhovar commanded once they were sorted. Graznikh had asked Praktash to make sure they had plenty of ghâshpau to keep them going as they set out on the Nûrn road heading for Thaurband, where they would take a ship across the Sea of Nûrnen and up along the river Sirlith until they reached the Eastguard fortress.  
Mikbork's legs were too short to be able to keep up with the larger Orcs and Uruks for any longer period of time, so Graznikh let him ride Akûl most of the time. Every now and then he would mount the warg himself to help him develop the proper muscles for carrying a heavier rider, but most of the time he ran beside him. Now that they had more common Orcs in tow, Margzat had his uzhâk keep a slower pace than they had on the way to Morigost. They met many caravans on the road, carrying goods of various kinds to the northern parts of the Black Land. Even so, they made swift progress on the crowded road. The cloud that hung over all of northern Mordor and blotted out the sky ended abruptly just outside Nurza-Shûk.  
”What the fuck _is_ that!?” Praktash exclaimed. He could not stop staring at the night sky and kept stumbling as he ran.  
”Stars,” Graznikh chuckled. ”An' that big thing up there that looks like Ghakû's shield is the Moon.”  
Záhovar hissed; even though the Moon was not even half-full her skin seemed to catch what little light there was and faintly reflected it back. The Uruks kept stealing terrified glances at her, as did Kraash. Sulmurz stared at her with wide eyes and gaping mouth. Ghakû only chuckled quietly. Graznikh gave him an inquisitive glance, but he only shook his head. As morning came, they entered the Slave Fields. It was sowing time and the black fields were full of workers, but the air was eerily quiet. No one talked or laughed, the only sound that split the soft murmur of the slaves' feet was the occasional cry of pain, whiplash or curse from the taskmasters.  
  
  
Margzat and the Uruks went to the local garrison once they reached Thaurband, as did Sulmurz, Mikbork, Ghakû and Kraash. Graznikh had no choice but to stick with Záhovar and Praktash chose to accompany him. Záhovar did not seem to care either way. She went straight down to the docks to ensure that the ship they were taking the next morning was where it should be. Afterwards she went to the same inn where she and Graznikh had stayed the first time they passed the town. _It's even the same bloody room,_ Graznikh thought as they entered it. Praktash stayed downstairs to get some food other than travelling rations.  
The moment they were alone, Záhovar turned to face him. ”Take off your clothes.”  
Graznikh gave her a blank stare. ”...What?”  
”I want you to fuck me,” she said as she came closer and tried to push him towards the bed, ”like it is the last thing you do!”  
Had this happened before Morigost, Graznikh would have complied gladly. As it was, his dick didn't even twitch. ”What kinda fuckin' idiot d'you take me for?”  
Záhovar's eyes widened in surprise, which only served to make Graznikh even more furious.  
”You told me to fuck off, an' now ya want me to put out for ya?!” He grabbed her by the collar of her armour and yanked her close so hard that she nearly lost her footing. ”Y'know what? For-fuckin'-get it! I'm not your opa-snaga!” He pushed her away and turned to leave, only to find the door covered by a black, slick surface that seemed to drain all light around it.  
”You would refuse me?” Záhovar hissed. Graznikh walked over to one of the windows at a leisurely pace, ignoring the shadows that closed in around him. The room was located in the southeastern corner of the building, and now Graznikh tore down the thick curtains in both windows and bathed the room in the light of the late morning sun, ignoring the nauseating sensation it caused him and effectively removing all shadows. Záhovar looked even more surprised as her illusions failed, all at once.  
”Sorry, 'master',” Graznikh growled. ”Ya can't both have me and throw me in the bagronk at the same time. It's all or nothin' with this snaga. I'll stick around as yer bodyguard; can't shrug this bond off no matter what I try. But I won't lick yer cunt an' let ya kick me in the face when you're done.” With that he left, slamming the door shut behind him, and stomped back down the stairs.  
”ALE!!!” he roared in the innkeeper's face. ”An' be fuckin' quick about it!” He kept growling even as he threw the payment onto the desk. Praktash left his seat at the table and came up to him.  
”What happened?”  
”Fuckin' bitch,” he snarled. ”Thought she could _command_ me to fuck, now of all times!”  
Praktash frowned, then he stood and began walking towards the stairs.  
”Where're ya goin'?” Graznikh growled.  
”Gonna have a chat with her,” Praktash replied with a wicked little grin. ”This shit's been goin' on for too long.”  
”Leave it,” Graznikh said. ”It's no use.”  
Praktash gave him a worried look. ”Ya sure?”  
”Yeah, I'm done with this shit. From now on, it's business an' nothin' else.”  
”But-”  
”Drop it. Not in the mood.”  
They finished their drinks in silence, and afterwards Praktash managed to talk him into following him back to the garrison. He didn't want to leave his buddy alone when he was like this, and perhaps spending time with his own kind could cheer him up a little.  
  
Ghakû threw a booze skin at them the moment they entered. Praktash caught it and took a swig before handing it to Graznikh.  
”Skai, I need s'more o' this,” Graznikh growled.  
”Keep it,” Ghakû said. ”I'm good.” He chuckled a little as Graznikh groaned. ”Tough meeting?”  
”You've no idea,” Graznikh muttered. ”Don't even know how I screwed up an' I still got kicked out on my arse for askin'.”  
”Don't take it personal, lad,” Ghakû grinned. ”The Top Ones have their game, no point in getting involved more'n necessary.”  
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. ”Haven't been called 'lad' in a century or so. Think you got the guts for that kinda thing?”  
”More'n most, I'd say,” Ghakû replied. ”When you get to my age, _lad,_ then you can bitch about it.” Praktash eyed them warily, but Graznikh just chuckled and shook his head. ”Fine, have it your way. Sharkû.”  
”Wanna play Orcs 'n Tarks?” Kraash asked. He and Sulmurz sat on each side of a leather sheet rolled out on the floor. As Graznikh approached, he saw that a chequered square had been painted on it, forming a crude game board with nine by nine squares inside the larger one. In the center square was a cross with four dots and in the middle of each border were four squares crossed over, forming a T-shape. Sulmurz was placing game pieces of two kinds on it; one type was white and square and made from bone, the other was black and round, made from dyed wood. One of the white pieces was a triangle and a bit larger than the others.  
”Don't know the rules,” Graznikh replied.  
”Don't listen to that bastard, he cheats worse'n the dockrats o' this bloody town,” Sulmurz said. ”Here's how it is; The white pieces in th' middle're the tarks, black ones on the sides're Orcs and the big 'un is the tark King. The Orcs start in their camps,” he placed the black pieces on the crossed-over squares on each side of the board, sixteen in total, ”an' the tarks start with the King in his tower,” he placed the triangular piece on the crossed and dotted square in the middle, ”with his guards around him.” He placed the eight square white pieces in pairs so that they connected the tower square with each 'camp'.  
”The rules go like this; tarks always start. Ya can only move one piece each round, an' ya can only move straight along the squares, not slanted or in an angle. Ya can move the piece as many steps as ya like, but ya can't jump o'er other pieces, no matter th' colour. The goal is for the Orcs to catch the King, an' for the King to escape off th' board. Orcs can catch tarks 'n the other way 'round by cornerin' them, that's when ya manage to put one o' yer own pieces on each side o' the enemy. Regular pieces're cornered by just two, th' King must be trapped by four so he can't run. Now the King can't return to his tower once he's left it, an' the tarks can't enter the tower or the Orc camps, so the King can't escape that way. Th' tarks hafta make sure he's got clear space all th' way to the border. 'S tricky, but it can be done. So whaddya say? Care for a round?”  
Graznikh grinned a little and nodded, and Kraash moved out of the way. Mikbork stood nearby, shuffling about and looking nervous until Graznikh told him to take a proper seat if he wanted to watch. Ghakû remained seated against the wall a few paces away but kept a close eye on the game. Soon all five Orcs were deeply engaged in the game.  
  
Záhovar stared at the door after Graznikh slammed it shut, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He was angry with her, this she knew. He had been so ever since they left Morigost, since the night she lost her temper, but she could not fathom why. There was a connection, one so obvious that she should be able to see it with ease, but she could not. There was a gaping void right in the middle, a lack of understanding so blatant that it frightened her. _He made me. He_ created _me, at least my mind, if not my body. Why would He leave something like this out, if He knew that I would encounter it? Did He not think it important?_ No one could fully know the Dark Lord's mind. But an alternative answer appeared in her mind before she could shut it down. _He does not know._  
Záhovar almost screamed out loud as the realisation struck her. _No! To question is to fail!_ She began pacing the room, struggling to fight down the panic and clearing her mind of all rebellious thought. There was a sudden tense urgency to the air and for a brief moment, she was sure her final moment had come. But it did not, and as she focused she found that it was not the Dark Lord's awareness she felt, but one very much like it. There was a knock on the door which made her twitch a little.  
”Enter.”  
”Deepest apologies for the disturbance, my lord Officer,” the innkeeper said, bowing repeatedly. ”There was a message left for you, to come to the keep as soon as you're able. Deepest apologies,” he repeated. Záhovar made a dismissive motion with her hand and told him to prepare her horse.  
Not long after, she dismounted in the courtyard of the fortress of Thaurband and marched into the main keep. The audience hall was empty but Záhovar remembered the way to Dachman's study. The study was empty as well when she entered, but soon footsteps echoed from behind.  
Záhovar turned to face the Nazgûl as it entered. She could almost taste the dread that followed in its wake. Dawndeath stopped in front of her and held out a gauntleted hand. Záhovar handed the glaive over without a word and watched as the wraith studied the blade. Then it breathed on it. Where a normal blade would have turned black and lost its sheen, the glaive kept its newly polished look and the steel only darkened a little as the Black Breath permeated it. The Maushur runes on the blade seemed to soak it up and little hoarfrost crystals formed around them.  
When it was done, the wraith returned the glaive to her. The first touch sent a jolt of icy pain up into her arms, but Záhovar held fast and soon it faded. She rested the glaive on her shoulder as she adressed the Nazgûl.  
”Where is Dachman?”  
The wraith gave her an intense stare. _”Absent,”_ it hissed. _”Find him.”_  
”Raids first, then I will search. Has He commanded otherwise?”  
_”No.”_  
Záhovar gave Dawndeath a nod and turned to leave. The wraith moved as well, catching up with her as she left the study and walked beside her all the way down to the gate. There, it stood and watched her in silence as she mounted, seemingly oblivious to the near-panicking horse. Záhovar let the horse run off some steam on the road that circled the hill where the fortress stood before returning to the inn.  
Night had fallen and the room was cold and dark when she entered. The torn curtains had been replaced in her absence. She turned to tell Graznikh to light a few candles, but remembered that he was not with her. Had he been, she would not have needed to ask. The candles would already be lit, he would have thrown his armour on the floor and messed up the bed by throwing himself in it to test its sturdiness before fetching something to eat. Now the room seemed strangely empty. The bond told her that he was still angry, but not as angry as he was. She considered yanking it to call him to her, but chose not to. Instead she went to bed and lay staring up into the ceiling, unable to shake the loneliness away as she realised that she had to rest alone for the first time in many years.  
  
Praktash watched the game for a while, then left to find Margzat. The krîtar stayed with his troops in the Uruk garrison which was located off the beaten track to avoid 'chafing' between Uruks and snaga. The Thaurband garrison was one of the larger ones; the Black Uruks here served as the policing force at the docks and slave pens and as taskmasters in the fields. Praktash saw no familiar faces when he walked through the gate. Many of the other Uruks turned to stare, leer or snort in disgust as he passed them, even more so when they spotted the collar around his neck. _Collared like a pet. No real Uruk. Wannabe snaga. Sweet-face._ The scorn was a mantra both outside and within as he walked past the sparring grounds and headed for the barracks. Praktash forced himself to keep his head high, keep his steps determined and shove the self-loathing that he'd thought was gone and forgotten back under control. _I've spent so much time among snaga that I've forgotten what it's like to be an Uruk who stands out._ At the entrance to the barracks, Ghrazagh blocked his way.  
”Ya lost, Bukrazikh?” he asked, leering. Praktash snorted. He didn't mind it when Margzat used that nickname; between the two of them, it was just a queer little thing that was _theirs_. But Ghrazagh used it purely as an insult.  
”Fuck off, pushdug,” Praktash growled. ”I go where I want.”  
”I ain't takin' orders from a _snaga_ ,” Ghrazagh chuckled. ”Ya heard the krîtar; ye're not one o' the pack. Why don'tcha scurry back to yer little snaga friends afore an accident happens, hmm?”  
”Yeah, I heard; no more pickin' fights with the Lug-snaga.”  
”Who's pickin' fights? I'm just standin' here.” Ghrazagh shrugged with a mocking grin. ”If ya want me to move, ya gotta pay up. Bend over an' gimme a ride o' that sweet arse o' yours, then I'll let ya pass.”  
Praktash heard snickering from behind and knew there was a group of Uruks behind him, watching the spectacle with much amusement. _Better give 'em a good show,_ he thought and got an idea. He made a clumsy swing at Ghrazagh's face that the other Uruk dodged with ease, then he gasped and pulled back which triggered Ghrazagh's predator's instinct. He let himself be caught from behind. There was a ripple through the crowd; no doubt they expected their share of the 'prey'. _I hope I don't botch this!_ Ghrazagh growled and showed him hard against the wall. But Praktash twisted out of his grasp the moment before he connected with it and used the momentum to his advantage. The air left Ghrazagh's lungs with a whistling sound as Praktash's fist connected with his guts. He doubled over and threw up hard as Praktash gave him one more for good measure. Praktash brought both his fists down on his back and he fell flat into his own vomit. After an attempt at getting up that failed, he laid still.  
Praktash could hardly believe it was over this fast. He shook his head at Ghrazagh and chuckled, careful to keep his voice as deep as he could. It would not do to start giggling from adrenaline rush in front of a group of excited Uruks.  
”You stupid fuck,” he said. ”I don't need claws to handle you. An' I don't _need_ to be a part o' your pack. I'm not snaga, I'm _Lug_ -snaga; I've got higher rank than you _and_ your krîtar!”  
”Izzat so?” a deep voice said. It took all Praktash had to not squeak as Margzat came out from the depths of the barracks. He had some new pieces of armour that added to his already intimidating frame, and Praktash made sure no one else saw the insane leer he gave the krîtar as he stripped him of both armour and clothing with his eyes. But still he was anxious; one word from the krîtar could shoot him down instantly. The others might think twice about attacking him after the news of what he did to Ghrazagh spread, but true respect was not so easily gained, not for him.  
”Hey, krîtar!”  
Margzat regarded him in silence for a while and Praktash could fell his insides twist. Then he threw Ghrazagh a disdainful glance and nodded. ”C'mon inside, Lug-snaga. Sun's risin'.”  
The rest of the garrison waited until they had left the gate before they came inside, hiding from the uncomfortable light.  
”Whazzup with the armour?” Praktash asked once they were alone. ”Ya didn't wear that on the road here.”  
”Won it at dice,” Margzat replied with a grin. ”I was stationed here for a while afore I got sent to Lugburz. One o' the other krîtars lost one too many times, an' I thought I'd cash in while passin' by.”  
”Nice,” Praktash purred.   
”So, what happened out there?” Margzat asked. ”Ye're just gonna beat 'em up one by one 'til ye're a krîtar yerself?”  
”I don't have that kind o' ambition,” Praktash replied. ”'Sides, I'm collared. No military rank for me.” He gave the bigger Uruk a teasing grin.  
”Mmm,” Margzat purred as he removed his armour. ”No need to worry 'bout competition, then...”  
”Not from me,” Praktash confirmed.  
”Guess I hafta come up with another reason for this then.”  
”Wha-” The strawbag hit him in the gut so hard that he hit the wall with a thump and fell face first into a pile of them.  
”What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!?” Praktash roared once he stopped gasping for breath.  
Margzat stood over him with an insane grin, swinging the strawbag in a circle with one hand. ”Let's see what ye're made of, shall we?”  
Praktash glared at him for a moment. Then he rolled his eyes and got back on his feet with a disappointed sigh. The grin faded from Margzat's face when he spotted his foul expression.  
”I... I didn't mean...” He dropped the strawbag and went to stop Praktash from leaving. The moment he did so, Praktash dodged his outstretched hand and dove for the bag. Then he brought it up hard into Margzat's confused face with a battle roar.  
”YA FUCKIN' LITTLE-” Margzat's furious roar was cut off by another hit. Eventually he managed to get hold of another strawbag and retaliated with equal passion.  Everything went downhill from there, but in the best way possible.  
  
”I still think it's fucked up,” Graznikh growled.  
”'S just the way it is here,” Sulmurz said with a shrug.  
”But it wasn't always, can't have been. An' it's not like this in other places. In Dunland we didn't lock our women up in holes in th' ground! That's tark business, thinkin' females're weaker'n males. Maybe tark women are, I never cared to ask. But Orc women aren't! Skai, half my sire's raidin' band were female, for fuck's sake!”  
”Calm down lad,” Ghakû said. ”I know things used to be different, an' none o' us're sayin' it isn't bad. But the Top Ones command it, if not the Eye himself. You gonna march up to the top o' the Tower an' set that one straight?”  
Graznikh sighed and shook his head before leaning it on his knee. ”Nar, I'm not that stupid. But I woulda thought the pitmasters or whoever decides who breeds whom woulda figured it out; it takes two to breed. Ya can't bloody well breed good warriors'n fighters if half the population goes completely untested.”  
”Doubt they care for that,” Ghakû said. ”They just want numbers.”  
”The more the merrier, eh?” Kraash snickered drunkenly. ”Skai, all this talk o' plashnak made me horny!” He placed his hands as if holding onto invisible hips astride his own and humped the air inbetween.  
”Gah, ye're so drunk you'd probably miss altogether an' go for th' belly button instead,” Sulmurz jeered. Kraash tried to hit him but missed and started laughing. The game was long since over and Mikbork had fallen asleep on a strawbag in a corner. Akûl had stretched out in another.  
”'At's another reason why they're kept in th' pits,” Ghakû said quietly to Graznikh and nodded towards Kraash and Sulmurz. ”To many lads like those two topside. Ladies don't fight all 'at well after a whole garrison's stuffed 'em.”  
Graznikh snorted. ”I might've ended up like them if I grew up never seein' a plashnak. Don't wanna know what it's like for the females. Poor girls...” Then he shot Ghakû a brief grin. ”If I'd told one o' the ladies back home to go packin' for the breeding pits, she woulda kicked my nuts so hard I'd be spittin' 'em out the next evening. An' that's exactly the way it's supposed to be.”  
”Homesick, are we? Had it better back there?”  
”Yeah...” The grin faded from Graznikh's face as he shrugged. ”But it's all over an' dealt with. If any of my band were alive after the war, they're probably somewhere in here. No point in dwelling on it.”  
  
  
The next morning, they gathered on the docks to board the ship that would take them across the Sea of Nûrnen and up the river Sirlith to Ruzh Moraut; the fortress of the Eastern Guard. This stage of the journey was as long as the distance between Lugburz and Thaurband but would take far less time and give them all a well deserved rest before they passed the border and set out into the wild.  
”Hey buddy,” Graznikh greeted Praktash as he and Margzat showed up with the Uruk uzhâk in tow. ”How're ya doin'? Ya got straw in your hair, by the way.”  
Praktash answered by shoving him up against a wall and giving him a passionate Uruk kiss that made Margzat chuckle. Mûrnaluzh and Ghakû grinned, Kraash turned away with an embarrassed scowl and Sulmurz looked like someone had just vomited on his crotch.  
”I'm fine,” Praktash said cheerfully when he let Graznikh back down. ”Missed ya though. How're you?”  
Graznikh shrugged and rubbed his aching jaw. ”Been better, been worse.” Then he turned to Záhovar and raised his voice a little, jabbing her through the bond. ”So what happens now?”  
Záhovar made no sign of having noticed his mental touch. ”We board the ship, once the snaga have finished loading our equipment and whatever else they are supposed to load.” She gave the line of slaves an annoyed glare. The taskmaster in charge of the loading was so drunk that he had to lean against the wall to stay upright, and the slaves took the opportunity to relax.  
”We're gonna be here all day,” Kraash groaned.  
Graznikh remembered something. ”Hey, Sulmurz!”  
Sulmurz had been glaring at Praktash with a disgusted face, but now he turned to Graznikh. ”Aye?”  
”Got ya a present,” Graznikh said and threw him something wrapped up in a piece of frayed and filthy linen cloth. Sulmurz unwrapped it with a frown that disappeared when the content fell out. His eyes grew large as he eyed the thick rawhide whip. Ghakû let out a low hissing whistle through his crooked teeth.  
”Oh that's fine,” Sulmurz breathed. ”'At's real fine indeed!” He let it slide through his hand a few times, then he raised it with an eager grin. The whip snapped the air with a satisfying crack that made a few of the nearby slaves jump. ”I owe ya for this, mate!”  
Graznikh grinned, but the grin disappeared quickly when he locked eyes with Záhovar. She had seen him work on the whip but not seen the finished result. Now she gave him a nod of approval. Graznikh gave her a mirthless smirk back. _So now it's fine to nod an' praise, huh? Bitch._  
”M'lord,” Sulmurz breathed as he approached Záhovar with a pleading look. ”Mind if I speed things up a little?”  
Záhovar gave him the tiniest of smiles and made a graceful 'be-my-guest' gesture with her hand. He gave her a deep bow with arms outstretched to the sides, whip in hand, and turned to the slaves with a giddy leer.  
”Alright then, my slugs! Time to snap things up a little! Or I'll snap _you_!”  
A few barked threats and licks of the lash later, the slaves were moving twice as fast as before. Sulmurz stood with his fists on his hips and gave Záhovar a confident leer over his shoulder. A leer that Záhovar returned with a smile, turning Graznikh's mood sour in an instant. He wasn't jealous, not as long as he got his due. But being spurned like this only to have the center of his attention, his heart and his life give that kind of smile to someone else right in front of him... He forced his face to remain neutral as Záhovar turned away and gave the order to board, and never noticed the worried look Praktash gave them both.  
  
Záhovar had requested a full skin of ghâshpau from Praktash for the journey, and as the ship set out he understood why. She spent most of the time on deck, in the sun, with her eyes fixed on the shoreline and kept downing the ghâshpau at an impressive rate. She even looked a little green at times. The Sea of Nûrnen was treacherous, with many underwater geysers, reefs and maelstroms. For that reason and because most of the sailors were Men, all traffic took place while the Sun was up. The Orcs and Uruks hid under deck and took the opportunity to mend their gear, play dice, eat what was left of the rations or sleep. Some of them were seasick as well, but Praktash's freshly brewed ghâshpau helped surprisingly well.  
Graznikh lay in a corner, staring into the wall. His ears kept following the familiar sound of Záhovar's footsteps, whether he wanted to or not. Praktash tried to distract him, but he wasn't in the mood. Not even for a suck.  
”Stick it to yer own kind if that's the kind o' shit ye're into,” Sulmurz sneered.  
”What, you don't like havin' your dick sucked?” Praktash asked with a curious smile.  
”Sure, by ladies. Not Uruk shitdicks.”  
”There's this nifty little thing called washin', y'know. Perhaps if ya learned to use it you'd have more success with them.”  
”An' what the fuck d'you know about that?”  
”Enough,” Praktash replied and flicked his tongue between his fingers.  
Sulmurz shuddered in disgust. ”You're supposed to stick yer _dick_ in there, not yer tongue! Sick bastard.”  
”You've no idea what a bit o' tongue can do,” Praktash purred. ”Make her toes curl an' she'll be all over ya, trust me!”  
”I'm doing just fine,” Sulmurz growled. ”Don't need advice on fuckin' from a bagshatîgatar.”  
Margzat grunted something that Sulmurz couldn't hear. A shadow fell over him and the next moment Mûrnaluzh had him in a chokehold against the wall. Margzat's second-in-command was nowhere near as large or intimidating as the krîtar, but he was well acquainted with keeping order and had taken it upon himself to keep the snaga in line. Kraash and Ghakû backed away immediately and after getting bashed three times against the wall, Sulmurz was no longer in the mood to fight back.  
”What did ya call him?” Mûrnaluzh growled. ”What!?”  
”Nothin',” Sulmurz croaked.  
”'At wasn't 'nothin', ya little fuckstain! Keep that shit up an' you'll be tastin' yer own whip next!”  
”I'm not takin' orders from you,” Sulmurz hissed. ”Graznikh's my chief!”  
” _Lug-snaga's_ yer 'chief',” Mûrnaluzh replied. ”'At means both of 'em.”  
”Nar, not really,” Praktash said. ”If I'm in charge, then I have to take responsibility for all the times he'll fuck things up, an' I'm not really into that. I'll do it if Graznikh doesn't wanna, but...”  
Both Uruks and Sulmurz turned to look at Graznikh.  
Graznikh sighed. ”Sulmurz... Back off. Ya can't win this. Stop insultin' the krîtar an' my buddy.”  
”Didn't insult the krîtar,” Sulmurz grumbled as Mûrnaluzh let him down.  
”A jab at Praktash _is_ a jab at the krîtar,” Mûrnaluzh sneered. ”At all of us.” He nodded to Margzat and threw Praktash an unreadable glance as he returned to the Uruk pack who were all huddled together in a pile, trying to sleep.  
  
Praktash was a little unnerved by Mûrnaluzh's words. He was also far too curious about the journey and the lands he had never seen, so he braved the sun wearing his hooded cloak. Záhovar stood alone near the prow with her eyes fixed on the hazy strip of land that could be seen in the distance. She flinched a little as Praktash stopped beside her, holding the rail to steady himself as the ship lurched in the waves.  
”How fast're we goin'?” he asked.  
”We should reach Nurngost by late afternoon,” Záhovar said with a brief glance at him. ”How are you holding up?”  
”Just fine,” Praktash replied with a grin. _Graznikh can sulk all he wants. I'm not gonna give up so easily._ ”Hope that's to your likin',” he said with a nod to the ghâshpau skin. Záhovar nodded.  
”Can I ask ya somethin'?” Praktash could see her tense up at the question.  
”You may.”  
”I was wonderin' if we could continue with the lessons? We haven't done 'em in a while.”  
”Have you practiced as I instructed you?”  
”Do 'em before I go to sleep, every time.”  
”Good.” She gave the shoreline another longing look before turning towards him. ”Follow.”  
They went down to Záhovar's cabin. On the way, she stopped at the entrance to the storage cabin which had been turned into the Orcs' quarters, quickly scanning the room until she found who she was looking for.  
”Krîtar,” she said and motioned for him to follow. Margzat threw Praktash an inquisitive glance, but Praktash could only shrug in confusion. _What's she playin' at now?_ Záhovar told them to sit and followed suit as they sat down on the stained wooden floor.  
”As you have no doubt guessed, Lug-snaga need certain skills and resilience of a kind that is not taught in the regular bootcamps,” Záhovar told Margzat. ”I am teaching Praktash to... if not master, then at least manage some of those skills. He has done well so far, and it is time to increase the difficulty. We will need your help to do so.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Whatever ya say, Lug-Durbatar.”  
”Good. I will explain more when we are ready.” She turned to Praktash and continued before he had time to interrupt. ”Let us begin with a few repeats before we move on.”  
Praktash nodded. The onslaught began immediately and he gasped, but soon he had managed to force the alien influence back. A few more attempts were made and each time he broke the spell with ease. Margzat watched them both intently, no doubt wondering what was going on. Záhovar slashed Praktash's chest with a clawed gauntlet and he hissed, but did not let the pain distract him. More pain followed; ice, fire, a sensation like a thousand little needles stabbed his skin all at once. It was agony and Praktash leaned forward and groaned as the joint assault on his body and mind continued. The black tendrils of Záhovar's domination spell probed him, searching for the tiniest crack in his defense. Praktash ignored the pain to the best of his ability and focused on steel, solid rock, a shield protecting against a hail of arrows, ice cooling the scorching fire, a warm blanket to shield from the cold. The spell found no crack and he forced it back once more, breathing hard and shaking from exhaustion once it broke.  
  
Záhovar gave him a few moments of rest before moving on. She turned to Margzat, who gave her an apprehensive look. ”I want you to sit behind him.” Margzat did as told and gave Praktash a little smile. Praktash frowned. ”What..?”  
”Now,” Záhovar said, ”I need you to distract him, in a pleasant manner. Run your hands along his chest and back, touch his ears, but do not excite him overmuch. There is no need to make things too... hard.” She smiled, and Praktash suddenly felt very uneasy. He felt Margzat's fingers on his neck, trailing the collarbone. The High Officer nodded for him to get ready. Her spell approached slowly, the way it had done during his very first lessons, giving him plenty of time to focus and set up his internal defenses. It was harder than before with Margzat touching him like that, but once the spell reached him, he had things under control. And the moment the spell connected, everything shattered like obsidian. He gasped as Margzat's warm tongue set his blood on fire, somehow easing the domination spell past all resistance. Horrible flashbacks of his time in the witch's clutches flashed by as he felt himself slip. ”No...”  
Margzat let go immediately, as did Záhovar. Praktash fell forward with a guttural cry and curled up with his forehead pressed to the floor. _Don't cry,_ he thought while forcing the panic back. _Not now, not in front of him, he can't know! He'll leave if he knows..._  
”Bukrazikh?” Margzat asked. Praktash felt his hands on his shoulders when he did not answer, but he shook them off.  
”What the fu- err... What's happenin'?” the krîtar asked.  
”Nothing that was not expected,” Záhovar replied. ”This is a very difficult part of the training.”  
”I can't do this,” Praktash hissed.  
”You can,” Záhovar said, ”and you will.”  
”Like fuck I'm not! I've had enough!” He leapt to his feet and made for the door.  
”Stop him,” Záhovar said calmly. It was a command, and Margzat could not disobey. He caught Praktash from behind and dragged the fighting Uruk back into the room.  
”Let me go,” Praktash snarled and tried to pull free.  
”Can't do,” Margzat said. He kicked Praktash's feet out from under him and pushed him down on the floor.  
”The fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He growled as Záhovar came closer and reached out to place a hand on his head. He snapped his fangs at her, thinking to scare her in a petty attempt at revenge. But she did not pull back as expected. Instead his fangs sank into her arm with a crunching sound, piercing both the steel of her vambrace and her skin. Praktash's eyes widened in shock as sweet red blood flooded his mouth. Záhovar hissed, but her face was the same impassive mask as before and she made no other sign that her arm had nearly been crushed. Margzat began to growl furiously but she held up her uninjured hand to stop him. Praktash slowly let go and gave her a dazed, frightened look.  
”I'll... fix that for ya.”  
”I count on it. Now listen to me,” Záhovar said. ”Focus. Tell me what happened. Why did you not resist?”  
”I _tried_ ,” Praktash whimpered, ”but it was like nothin' I did mattered! Once he started touchin' me, I... I couldn't... It just went straight inside!” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ”It's no use. If this happens while... I just can't do it!”  
”I never said that this would be easy. You knew it from the start. But I would not ask this of you if I did not think you ready. Do you not remember our very first lessons? You said the same thing then, several times in fact. But you came through and grew stronger for it. You _can_ do this and you will, because you have to. If not... Imagine that someone takes control of Margzat and uses him to seduce you. If you break at a moment like that, both your lives and many others' might be at stake. Do you want that?”  
  
Praktash stared at her for a while. Then he looked up at Margzat, who gave him a little smile.  ”Nar. I don't want that.”  
”Good. Do you want to try again, or wait?”  
”I think I'll wait a bit. Gotta... calm down a little. You can let me go now big guy, I won't run again.” Praktash frowned as Margzat made no sign of having heard him. ”'Zat? Ya okay?”  
”No, he is not.” Záhovar did _something_ that made the giant Uruk inhale sharply. Then he fell backwards and cramped a few times before he began hyperventilating, eyes darting around as if the place was haunted.  
”'Zat!!” Praktash shot to his feet. Margzat stared at him for a moment as if he did not recognise him, then he relaxed and shook his head.  
”Fuck... I hate when that happens.”  
”When what happens? 'Zat, what..?” Then his eyes narrowed and he slowly turned towards Záhovar. ”How long,” he snarled, ”was he under that bloody spell?”  
”From when you tried to run. I did not trust that he would act fast enough to stop you, and-”  
Praktash pounced her with a furious roar, lifting her from the ground and slamming her into the wall so hard that she passed out briefly. He waited patiently until she returned to consciousness before he began shouting at her.  
”Lemme make one thing clear, ya mind-messin' makatok! You stay the fuck outta his head! It's enough that ya promised not to mess with Graznikh, yet you do it all the same! But you're _not_ touchin' my 'Zat!”  
”The agreement is set,” Záhovar hissed. ”You cannot change the terms after the fact! Besides, if you expect me to stay my hand for concerns of your injured sensibilities you would render me completely impotent!”  
”That's not true, an' you know it ya lyin' bitch! I'm not lettin' ya turn into another witch, I don't care how hard I gotta fuck ya up to stop it!”  
”You cannot solve every problem with your cock,” Záhovar sneered.  
Praktash gave her an evil leer. ”We'll see about that... Besides, I can always speak my mind. That _is_ part of the agreement.”  
Záhovar raised an eyebrow and held up her bleeding arm. Praktash laughed a little.  
”I was usin' my mouth, so technically I was speakin'.”  
”You are going too far!”  
”Bukrazikh, for fuck's sake!” Margzat exclaimed with a terrified near-squeak. ”'At's a High Officer!!”  
”Shut _up!_ ” Praktash snapped at him. ”Fuck off with your 'Officers this' an' 'Officers that'! This is _my_ Officer, an' I do whatever the fuck I want with her! Ain't that right, huh? _Makatok,_ ” he breathed into Záhovar's face. Her eyes flashed and he could hear Margzat yelp in fear as the shadows sprung to life in the cabin. The collar around his neck turned so cold that it burned against his skin and he could feel something tear at his sanity as the colours and contours around them grew bleak and foggy, but he held steady.  
”Not this time,” he growled. ”Back down, or I _will_ fuck ya. I don't care if I die while doin' it.”  
After what felt like an eternity, the colours returned to the world and the shadows to their proper place as Záhovar closed her eyes. Margzat stood pressed against the opposite wall, staring at nothing with wide eyes and breathing in sharp, shallow gasps.  
  
Praktash let the Officer back down and had to catch her when she collapsed. The same moment the door exploded in splinters as Graznikh and Sulmurz both threw themselves against and through it, weapons drawn.  
”What the everloving _fuck_ is goin' on in here!?” Graznikh bellowed with a feral look. As he spotted Záhovar, his eyes grew even wider. ”No...”  
Praktash looked down and swallowed hard when he saw all the blood. _But... I didn't bite her that hard!_  
”She's bleedin' out!” Sulmurz growled as he grabbed her injured arm. Praktash's fangs had bent the metal of her vambrace into the flesh and pressed it apart; a steady trickle of blood flowed down her fingers and dripped onto the floor. Praktash acted quick and unbuckled the vambrace. Whatever unnatural resolve Záhovar had held onto earlier was gone now and she screamed weakly as he tore it off.  
”Press here an' here,” he instructed Graznikh, ”It'll stop the flow a little. 'Zat? Margzat!”  
The giant Uruk twitched hard and stared at Praktash, blinking as if he had stared into the sun. Sulmurz snorted when he didn't react to Praktash's request for cloth and walked over to the bed, tearing strips from the linen sheets and handing them to Praktash.  
”So much for the strength of Uruks, eh?” he sneered quietly as he leaned against the wall. Praktash growled at him but did not reply.   
When the trickle of blood was finally stemmed and Praktash had finished wrapping the bandages, both Sulmurz and Margzat were gone. Graznikh sat on the bedside and refused to take his eyes off Záhovar.  
”Look, I...” Praktash began, but Graznikh only waved him off. He found Margzat in the main cabin, chatting with Mûrnaluzh. He seemed to be in a good mood despite what happened earlier, but the moment he spotted Praktash the grin died on his lips.  
”Leave the face,” he said. Mûrnaluzh stood and walked over to the confused Praktash.  
”What?”  
Mûrnaluzh grinned. ”Wanna word with the krîtar, do ya?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash said. Mûrnaluzh grabbed his chestplate and dragged him into the cabin where he punched his shoulder so hard that the collarbone broke with an audible snap. The rest of the pack descended upon him and he fell to the floor howling as fists and steelshod feet crashed into him from all sides. A few moments later they backed away and Praktash was left alone.  
”The fuck're you lookin' at, snaga?” Mûrnaluzh asked Sulmurz.  
”Oh, just admirin' Uruks at work. You big guys sure know how it's done,” Sulmurz said appreciatively.  
”Poor guy, I think he needs a hand,” Lîrnash chuckled when Praktash fell to the floor after an unsuccessful attempt at getting up.  
”Here, I'll help ya,” Ghrazagh said. He grabbed Praktash's arm and pulled him to his feet none too gently. Praktash had to bite back a scream as the broken collarbone was jostled. Ghrazagh dragged him back to the door, turned him around and shoved him against the opposite wall outside, and this time he could not keep the scream in.  
”Get used to it, opa-snaga,” Ghrazagh chuckled. ”And please, do fuck up again. Ya have a real sweet scream, an' the next time it won't be fists that greet ya.” The last thing Praktash saw before the door slammed shut was Sulmurz's leering face.  
Praktash's cloak was left in the cabin, so he could not escape up on deck. Instead he dragged himself into a tiny cabin at the end of the corridor and collapsed in a corner, where he let the hated tears fall.  
  
  
There was a light tap on the door and Graznikh's hands immediately went for his blades, but he relaxed when Sulmurz stuck his head inside.  
”Hey... Just wanted to say that we're reachin' Nurngost now. Any change?”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, she's still out cold. There'll be no goin' ashore for her like this.”  
”Skai,” Sulmurz growled. ”Can I..?” He entered when Graznikh nodded and closed the door behind him.  
”Heard a noise outside. What happened?”  
”Oh, just the Uruks havin' some fun.”  
Graznikh's eyes narrowed. ”What kind of 'fun' and with whom?”  
”Yer... well, Uruk. Don't worry, they just punched him a bit, nothing serious. Walked just fine after.”  
Graznikh sighed. ”Margzat doesn't have the authority to go after a Lug-snaga.”  
”Oh come on, we all heard what yer Uruk shouted in here! Ya really think they woulda been content with waitin' for the Top One to deal with things for 'em?”  
Graznikh did not reply. Sulmurz came a little closer and leaned againt the bedpost behind Graznikh.  
”Skai, she's terrifyin' even like that,” he said with a grin. Graznikh smirked mirthlessly, then he remembered the look she had given Sulmurz in Thaurband and gave the other Orc a caustic glance.  
”Keep your hands off. Don't even think about it.”  
Sulmurz cocked his head. ”Wasn't ever planning to go behind yer back.”  
”You're there now!”  
Sulmurz laughed and came back into Graznikh's view, hands raised. ”Sorry chief, ain't gonna happen again.” The ship rocked a bit and there was a dull thud from above, followed by shouting and the sound of whiplashes.  
”Sounds like we've docked,” Sulmurz remarked.  
”Hnh.” Graznikh gave him a long, hard glare.  
”What?”  
”I'm trying to figure out whether I can trust ya with somethin',” Graznikh growled. ”Normally I'd put Praktash to it, but I need him with me.”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”I'll do whatever ya tell me. If ya trust me, well, that's up to you.”  
Graznikh nodded towards the still sleeping Záhovar. ”I need ya to take my place at her side for a while. You'll do whatever she tells ya an' nothin' else.”  
”Wouldn't dream of it,” Sulmurz replied.  
”Go tell the others not to get too drunk if they go ashore and that we'll leave anyone behind who isn't on the ship when we set out by the morrow. Then get back here. I'm gonna go have a chat with my buddy.”  
Sulmurz offered to lend him the new whip. ”Ya sure?” he asked when Graznikh declined.  
”I don't need a whip for this.”  
”Take it anyway. The sight alone might help ya. An' if ya do wanna give him a few kisses with it, give my regards.”  
Graznikh stopped. ”I don't care what ya think of him, but take some bloody care with what ya say,” he growled. ”I've fucked him too, an' got fucked _by_ him for years before that. Life's a little more complicated than you'd have it.” Sulmurz gave him a perplexed stare as he shut the door.  
  
Graznikh had to search the entire ship before he found Praktash in one of the empty cabins.  
”You gonna beat me up too?” the Uruk asked.  
”Nar, just talk. Not here,” Graznikh added when Praktash made a weak 'be-my-guest' gesture. Praktash gave him a confused look and nodded. He winced as he got to his feet and followed his buddy up on deck.  
Nurngost was a small prison fortress and it did not take long to reach the gate that led out on the other side. The further they walked into the craggy terrain, the more anxious Praktash got. It was almost a relief when Graznikh stopped and turned to him.  
”I'm sorry,” Praktash said before Graznikh opened his mouth. The Orc watched him in silence for several long moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was weary but calm.  
”Nar, you're not. If you'd been, you wouldn'ta done what ya did in the first place. But it's all fun an' games to ya, isn't it? You've been makin' a fool of both yerself and this mission ever since we left Lugburz. Well here's some news; playtime's over. Has it ever crossed your mind that folks're gonna die on this mission? I've been in enough raids to know the facts; not all of us're gonna come back from this. This isn't knockin' a few heads or rapin' a defenseless snaga in some Lugburz backalley. Folks'll get injured, folks'll die. One stray arrow's enough, one too slow dodge. Are you ready for watchin' Margzat go down with an arrow in his throat? Or try to patch me up, just to see it fail an' find me cold the next morning? Did it ever cross yer mind that you could be returnin' to Lugburz alone when this is over?”  
Praktash whimpered.  
”And what's more,” Graznikh continued in the same calm, cold voice, ”if Záhovar doesn't survive, none of us will. If she falls, we've already failed 'cause we can't go on. None of us have that authority. She's not here for us, we're here for _her_. That means you too! Your little 'deal' with her doesn't mean shit out here. You remember that first command as well as I do; 'keep up appearances in public'. What the fuck've you been doing?”  
Praktash slowly shook his head and started trembling as Graznikh began listing.  
”First off, ya revealed somethin' ya promised to keep your mouth shut about. Something that could get me and our master killed or worse. Something ya kept quiet about despite gettin' fuckin' _tortured_ 'til ya were near dead, but one kiss from a bloody stranger got ya babblin'.”  
”Margzat's no stranger,” Praktash protested meekly.  
”Nar? I've known that guy for years an' he's a stranger to _me._ You've known him what, three weeks? What's he done to prove himself?”  
Praktash opened and closed his mouth a few times, but could not come up with a good reply.  
”What'd he do before he was krîtar?” Graznikh asked. "Before he was Captain o' the Trench?" Praktash looked down and shook his head, but faltered under his buddy's intense stare.  
”He... He was...”  
Graznikh cocked his head and whispered; ”What was he?”  
”You know already,” Praktash snapped.  
”Yeah, I know. He was the witch's bloody _doorguard! And_ he's still loyal to her. The same witch that attacked our master. That doesn't tell ya anything?”  
”Why'd ya bring him along if he's so bloody shifty?”  
”'Cause I wanna keep an eye on him an' get him over good on our side. The fact that he didn't take advantage of either of ya back on the ship and sent ya packin' instead of patting your back lifts him a little, but not enough.”  
” _What!?_ ”  
”Which brings me to the second; you humiliated and attacked our master, _your_ master, in public!”  
”T'was hardly in public,” Praktash began but fell silent when Graznikh's eyes narrowed to a pair of red, burning slits.  
”Here's some other news for ya then,” he hissed. ”Everyone on that ship heard your words back there, down to the last packrat! I was on deck when it started; want me to describe the faces on some o' the sailors when they heard what you were shoutin'?”  
Praktash swallowed hard. ”No,” he whispered.  
”You fuckin' _bit_ her and nearly bled her dry!”  
”T'was an accident! I didn't mean to-”  
Graznikh's eyes widened and Praktash was suddenly terrified of what he saw there. The Orc's fist crashed into his face and he staggered back, holding his broken lip where one of the piercings had once been located. A knee in the guts sent him to the ground, coughing and whining quietly. Graznikh placed a knee on his throat and pressed down until Praktash was struggling to breathe.  
”No more,” Graznikh growled. ”No more excuses, I'm warnin' ya. Your fuckin' 'accident' nearly killed the one you owe your miserable life to. Find out where your allegiances lie, _Uruk,_ 'cause no one'll do it for ya.” He stood and picked up the steel spike that had adorned Praktash's lower lip. ”You'll get this back when you've paid your debt to her. Crawl back to her, beg for mercy an' take your punishment, no matter how she decides to do it. If she sends ya to Blog Shakâmb, you'll go to fuckin' Blog Shakâmb without a single fuckin' word o' protest. Got it?”  
Praktash did not move or get up from the ground. He simply stared straight ahead with dead eyes, tears and blood mingling in the dust. A slow nod was the only answer he gave.  
  
Once Graznikh was outside of Praktash's hearing range, he broke into a run. He ran like he had never run before, he ran until he threw up and his lungs burned, but he kept running. He heard paws catch up with him and swung up onto Akûl's back without slowing down. Their wild flight took them along the cliffs and down into a sheltered little cove by the shoreline, where black basalts and greyish white rocksalt mingled to form strange sculptures in the sand. Graznikh fell from Akûl's back and rolled on the black sand, howling his grief and anguish to the roaring sea.  
”I'M SORRY!!!” he screamed. ”Praktash, I'm sorry!! What the fuck was I supposed to do, ya nearly killed her!” The memories of Záhovar's pale, unconscious face and Praktash's dead eyes in the dust kept haunting him until he could barely stand it any more.  
”I can't do this,” he whimpered to Akûl, who lay down beside him in an attempt to comfort. ”I can't live without either of 'em, can't do this alone! Záhovar, Praktash, for fuck's sake, I'm so sorry... I don't wanna be left alone...” Briefly he wondered if it wasn't better to just end it. If the pain wouldn't lessen with a knife in his heart. Akûl growled softly when he reached for one of them.  
”Bite me if ya wanna,” Graznikh murmured. ”I'm not really a worthy rider for ya anyway. Not like this, it ain't gonna get any better. Everything's fallin' apart...”  
A tiny trickle of strength reached him then, so subtle that he barely noticed it at first. The bond opened ever so slightly, soothing and comforting, and Graznikh reached for it like only a broken, desperate creature would. It was not forgiveness, not solace, but it was something. If his self could hold on with a cramping grip, then so it did as night slowly fell on the cove and the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orcs 'n Tarks – this is a real game invented by the Norse/Vikings with the tongue-twisting name Hnefatafl.
> 
> Akûlam – avalanche  
> Shain raz graznikhi – rain of icicles ('graznikh' means 'cold knife' but also 'icicle')  
> Mîr akûlhân - beautiful icemoon  
> Foshanzikh – lit. 'without discipline'  
> Plashnak - cunt


	6. Solutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talk in this chapter. The action starts in the next one!

The ship stayed at Nurngost for four days at Graznikh's request to give Záhovar some time to rest and heal before setting out again, and the rest of the journey passed in relative peace. A tense, uneasy, uncomfortable peace, but peace nonetheless. When Praktash had returned to the ship battered and bruised, Sulmurz had made some nasty remarks about how he was much prettier now and how he'd soon look like a real snaga if he kept this shit up. This had caused Praktash to pounce him with a wordless roar and it had taken three Uruks to break the fight up. After that, Praktash had taken his cloak and spent the rest of his time on deck without speaking to anyone.  
  
Margzat felt torn. He liked the weird little Lug-snaga Uruk, his 'Clawless', perhaps a little too much. He was clever and fun to hang out with, with a weird playfulness that Margzat had never encountered before. Cute too, but in a good way. When he had first seen him half-dead back in Morgai he hadn't thought much of him, and even less so when he found out that the guy was a drugdealer and a snaga of all things, albeit a Lug-snaga. He had thought him a sweet face and nothing more. But Margzat's preconceptions had been put to shame over and over during the trip. Praktash was far tougher than he looked and had a self-control unlike anything the krîtar had seen. No matter how angry he became he never started a fight (apart from this last one), it was always another Uruk who pounced him first and half the time Praktash walked away in the middle of it like nothing had happened, leaving his opponent humiliated and confused. Had Margzat been in the same situation, he would probably have killed those who provoked him by now. The better he got to know him, the more his respect for the healer grew and the more time they spent together, the more Margzat felt himself fall deeper into those shining, green eyes.  
But the laws of the pack were perfectly clear; attack the Masters and you're out. There were no excuses. Margzat was glad that Praktash wasn't a part of his pack; if he had been, Margzat would have been forced to kill him. Before Praktash had stuck his head in the cabin the day before, Margzat had already had to beat down two of the others who had challenged him because of Mûrnaluzh's words when Margzat would not let them fuck and kill the 'bukrazikh'. He dearly wished that there was some way he could get Mûrnaluzh out of the picture without risking open rebellion among the others; the bastard was as ambitious as he was clever and speaking of Praktash as if he was a pack member had been a huge undermining of Margzat's authority. He also had too many of the others on his side; Margzat could not attack him without something solid to go on, otherwise he might risk open rebellion. He decided that he would have to have a chat with Graznikh; the little snaga was a crafty one and might have a solution to the problem. It would have to be done in secret, of course; if anyone found out that an Uruk krîtar took advice from a collared snaga, he would never be able to sleep again without having a knife in his back the moment he closed his eyes.  
  
No matter his mood, Praktash had not shirked his duties. He tended to Záhovar's wounds expertly and made sure she got what she needed to replenish the blood she had lost. Graznikh and Sulmurz helped her up on deck when the nausea overtook her and guarded her in case any of the sailors would turn traitor. Graznikh discreetly kept an eye on Praktash as well; he sat near the prow with his eyes fixed on the water, absently fingering his broken lip. They had not spoken since Nurngost, and Praktash seemed to have become a completely different Uruk; a mute stranger who never met the eyes of others and did his duties in complete silence before retreating back to his spot on deck. Seeing his buddy like this broke Graznikh's heart all over again, and knowing it was all his fault was even worse. _I coulda done something, I coulda stopped this from happening._ He wanted so badly to go over there, beg for forgiveness and do whatever necessary to set things right, but Záhovar had forbidden him. He had asked her why but she would not tell. Graznikh could not feel any anger from her through the bond, and that worried him more than anything.

They passed Cape Resolve at noon and steered out on open sea. Evening had fallen when they reached the mouth of the river Sirlith. Záhovar wanted no more delays and since the river was calmer than the sea, they continued sailing into the night. The only ones who were seemingly unaffected by the sombre mood were Akûl and Mikbork. Now that the sun had set and the Orcs could leave the stinking cargo room the goblin had climbed the tallest mast and clung to the very top, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the view.  
”Don't claw up the sails,” Graznikh told him after the captain of the ship voiced his concerns on the matter.  
”Nar, I ain't stoopid,” Mikbork replied before climbing back up.  
Akûl spent most of the time by Praktash's side. Graznikh had asked the warg to do so; he didn't want Praktash to be completely alone, and Akûl seemed to be the only one who could get the Uruk out of his solitary shell. Despite it being night, the Uruk had not removed his cloak or taken off the hood. Akûl did not do anything, but simply sat there watching the sea or the goings-on on deck. Every now and then Praktash would stretch out a hand and give him a brief scratch.  
The warg proved an efficient protector. A few of the Uruks had tried to pester Praktash once they got up on deck, but when faced with a furious, cornered warg they had quickly backed off. Lîrnash had been foolish enough to challenge Akûl, thinking that the warg would back off the way wargs did once their rider had the upper hand. After getting pummeled to the floor and having his throat squeezed shut repeatedly by Akûl's jaws until his vision blurred, even he got the message. Mikbork had watched the show from his safe spot up in the mast, laughing at the Uruk who didn't know what was good for him. Lîrnash had been roaring insults and curses at him until Margzat had clubbed him on the head and ordered two of the others to drag him back below deck.  
  
They reached Ruzh Doraut just before midnight. Margzat jumped off the ship before the gangplank was even in place, heading straight for a well-armoured Uruk standing on the docks. The other turned towards him with a hostile growl as the krîtar approached, with a face so covered in scars that there was no telling how he might once have looked. Margzat reciprocated in kind and did not even care to use his fists as they clashed. He simply walked straight into the other with a growl like a thunderclap, and the other Uruk backed away. Then both grinned.  
”Hey Margzat, ya fuckin' barn door! How's it goin'?”  
”The fuck happened to yer face, Garmadh? I'm thinkin' ya need some patchin' up. Or a bag.”  
Garmadh guffawed at that and gave the rest of the company a scrutinising look. When he spotted Záhovar his eyes widened slightly and he clumsily went down on bended knee as she approached.  
”This here's krîtar Garmadh,” Margzat said to her.  
”Lug-durbatar,” Garmadh greeted. ”All's set, the way ya rekw... req... commanded.”  
Záhovar gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and motioned for him to stand. ”Where is Dâurinzil?”  
”Inspectin' the border, Lug-durbatar,” Garmadh replied. ”There was some disturbance in one o' the guard posts he couldn't let go unanswered. He... sent me here instead.”  
The Uruk seemed to wilt under Záhovar's impassive stare until his legs were trembling.  
”Inform him that I _demand_ to see him in my quarters when he return,” Záhovar said coolly. ”And that any further delays will be repaid.” Garmadh let out an audible sigh of relief as she turned to leave. A few steps away, she stopped. ”Since he is... indisposed, and you are seemingly in command in his absence, I shall hold you responsible for the state of my quarters and those of my followers. See to it that I find them adequate.”  
Garmadh looked faint as she turned her back on him. Margzat's upper lip quivered a little, but he did not smile or laugh. Graznikh and Sulmurz, on the other hand, both had to bite their tongues. No matter how much Záhovar pissed him off, Graznikh doubted that there would ever come a time when he did not get horny from watching her pull rank like this. Judging by the almost lovesick expression on Sulmurz' face, he was experiencing something similar. ”I can't help it!” he hissed when he noticed the venomous glare Graznikh gave him.  
”Just messin' with ya,” Graznikh whispered back with a leer that Sulmurz returned.  
  
After exchanging a few words with krîtar Garmadh, Margzat left for the garrison with the uzhak in tow. Sulmurz did the same with his little band.  
”Akûl, Praktash! Ya comin'?” Graznikh called. The warg rose and gave Praktash a nudge before trotting over to Graznikh's side. It took a little longer for Praktash to get up, but soon he stood beside Graznikh as well, eyes fixed on the ground.  
”Can we talk later?” Graznikh whispered.  
”Nar.”  
”Why not?”  
”'Cause the last time we 'talked' you took half my face with ya when you left.”  
”It was one small piercing! An' you'll get it back, I promise.”  
”Keep it. I can find another.”  
”Oh, come on-” Graznikh began, but Záhovar interrupted him.  
”Graznikh; go and make sure that our quarters are hospitable. Praktash; follow me.”  
Graznikh stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Praktash before he sighed and left. Praktash glanced back, then he returned to staring at the ground.  
  
Záhovar seemed to know every winding alley and corridor of the fortress, and soon they reached the base of the stairs that led up to the top of one of the lower towers that looked out over the slavers' port. A group of four Uruks loitered nearby, and she walked up to them.  
”You will guard the base of the stairs until I come back down,” she said in a calm but stern voice. ”None may disturb me unless it is a matter of life or death.”  
Záhovar did not speak at once when they stopped on top of the tower. Instead she watched the sea for a while, leaving Praktash to fidget nervously until she eventually turned to face him. As she did so, he noticed that she had somehow gotten her hands on Sulmurz's whip. Praktash allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Just a whipping then, hopefully no mindmessing this time.  
”What do you want?”  
Praktash frowned in confusion at the unexpected question and blinked a few times. ”Wh-... What do you mean?”  
”I mean what I ask. What do you want?”  
Praktash looked down. ”I don't... I don't get it.”  
”Have you lost your ability to comprehend language?”  
”No. I just don't know why-”  
Záhovar smirked a little and began pacing him slowly. ”Does it matter? Answer the question.”  
Praktash swallowed. ”I wish none of this had happened.”  
”If wishes were candles, the whole world would burn. But that is not what I asked.”  
”I wanna go home,” he whispered.  
Záhovar stopped pacing. ”'Home'? I remember an Uruk who was almost too thrilled over the chance to see new sights and foreign lands. What happened to him?”  
”He drowned in Nurnen,” Praktash whispered. Záhovar came so close that she could look straight into the hood of his cloak. Her shorter stature made it impossible for him to keep his eyes on the ground without looking at her and the steel talons of her gauntlet pricked his cheeks and forbade him from turning his head as she placed a hand under his chin.  
”You are many things, Praktash, but not a good liar. And I cannot let you return to Lugburz. Your skills as a healer are unsurpassed; we need you. Yes, _we_.”  
”I don't wanna go on like this. Everyone's turned against me! T'was a fuckin' mistake, I didn't mean to do what I did!” Praktash broke off and took a few deep breaths.  
”I know,” Záhovar said softly and let him go. ”And I am not pleased with how this situation has been handled. Had I been able, I might...” She trailed off and shook her head. ”No. There is no point in dwelling on 'what if's. Know that I am not angry with you; your fault in this is minor.”  
Praktash's lips curled in a mirthless grin that he hoped looked ugly even on his face. ”'Minor'? I near bloody killed ya!”  
”Near, but not. I am still here, am I not? And you repaired the damage afterwards.”  
He frowned. ”Then... What's that for?” He nodded towards the whip.  
”It is not for you.”  
Praktash broke eye contact. ”So you're not gonna punish me..?”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”You want me to whip you?”  
”Yeah. It'd be somethin' real, better than all the wordless shit. Somethin' visible, to show the others you didn't just let me off the hook.” He winced a little and whispered: ”Some pain to fill the hole...”  
  
Záhovar studied him for a while before answering. ”If you truly want me to, then I will. On one condition.”  
Praktash looked up again.  
”I want you to make up with Graznikh,” she continued and held up a hand as he opened his mouth to protest. ” _After_ I have spoken to him. I have a few choice words for the krîtar as well. If you meet him, you may relay a warning if you wish; if he cannot keep his soldiers in line, I will strip him of his rank and do what he cannot.”  
Praktash slowly sunk to his knees, suddenly afraid. Officers, High or Low, were rarely stripped of their rank and the result was often ugly as their former subordinates would quickly turn on them. The common and far more merciful procedure was to simply have them killed. _If 'Zat loses his rank, the others'll tear him apart..._  
”Remove your cloak, armour and shirt,” Záhovar commanded. As he obliged, she untied the whip and took it in one hand, cracking it a few times in the air to get the feel of it.  
”You will tell me when you have had enough.”  
Praktash sat back on his heels, then he placed his hands on his knees and braced himself. But even so, he involuntarily jerked forward and the air left his lungs in a whistling hiss as the first lash connected with his lower back. It hurt far more than he remembered. _You wanted this,_ he reminded himself as he sat back up. _You asked for it._  
When Záhovar had whipped Graznikh back in Lugburz, she had been eager and excited to do it. But as Praktash glanced back and met her eyes now there was none of that hunger in them, only ice and steel. She waited for him to pick himself back up inbetween each lash, gave him time to steady himself and be fully aware of the next one. Time to say the word to end it, should he wish to. Somehow this slow, methodical approach was far worse than if she had ripped into him with abandon and also made it all the harder for him to actually end the whipping. Soon he could no longer hold the bellows and cries of pain in and each time it got a little harder to sit back up. Eventually the point where he could no longer do so was reached.  
Praktash whimpered weakly where he lay. Hot blood trickled down his back and his entire body felt like it was on fire, but the wished-for result never came. Instead of dulling the pain inside, the lashing had only made it worse. He looked up as Záhovar went down on bended knee beside him.  
”Did you bring any healing salve?” she asked. Praktash nodded and tried to move his hand to one of his belt pockets, but the pain was too intense. She removed one of her gauntlets and opened it for him, taking a jar of salve from it. Then she proceeded to smear his torn and bleeding skin with it with gentle hands. Muffled snickering was heard from below at Praktash's pained sobs and whines. Záhovar frowned but said nothing. Soon the physical pain dulled a bit as the healing salve took effect and Praktash got to his feet. Putting his shirt and armour back on was agony. He wrapped the cloak tight to cover the blood that stained his loincloth and the back of his legs.  
”Did this make you feel better?” Záhovar asked.  
Praktash shook his head. ”Nar, not really. But... thank you for tryin'.”  
”And have you learned?”  
”Yeah... I won't bite or attack ya in any way again.”  
”And..?”  
”An' I'll make up with Graznikh,” he added in a small voice. He hesitated for a bit before he spoke again. ”About what you asked me... 'bout what I want.”  
”Yes?”  
He looked straight into her eyes. ”I want things to go back to normal, the way they used to be back in Lugburz. Me, Graznikh, you, together. Not... not split up like this, squabblin' over shit all the time an' hurtin' each other. It's not right.”  
Záhovar looked at him with a thoughtful look in her eyes. ”No, it is not. I would like that too, and I will try to... make up, as you say.”  
Praktash nodded. ”Can I ask ya somethin' else?”  
”You may.”  
”Graznikh said somethin', back when... well, when this happened.” He pointed at his broken lip and the missing piercing. ”We fought over Margzat. He said Margzat wasn't to be trusted, 'cause... He was in Blog Shakâmb earlier.”  
Once again, there was a moment of silence before she answered. ”What he said is not true. Margzat is perfectly trustworthy, despite recent events. I do not say that I believe he is; I say that he _is_. Graznikh's suspicion is understandable, but misplaced.”  
The ghost of a smile passed Praktash's lips. ”Good to know.”  
  
They descended the stairs down through the tower. The Uruks sniffed the air and eyed Praktash with hungry leers as they passed the gate.  
”Did ya get the hilt too, or just a few kisses?” one of them murmured. Praktash turned his head to retort in kind, but Záhovar was faster. There was a wet crunching sound followed by a gurgle as she shoved the steel claws of her gauntlet into the Uruk's neck, twisted it and tore his tongue out. A few drops of black blood hit her face as the body fell convulsing to the ground.  
”Do you have anything more to say?” The Uruks shook their heads. ”Then leave.” As the running footsteps faded, Záhovar turned to Praktash. ”Let us return to my quarters.”  
  
Graznikh made his way to the guest quarters while hoping that Záhovar would not mess Praktash up too badly. Guilt kept wriggling and gnawing its way through his innards like a bunch of carnivorous worms. When he finally found the right corridor, he also found Margzat waiting for him.  
”Need a word, Lug-snaga, if ya got the time,” the krîtar said.  
Graznikh shrugged and nodded at the door. ”In here.” Margzat nodded and followed him inside. The guest quarters were sparsely furnished with hard chairs surrounding a simple square table and a single bed in a corner. _Suppose it's the floor for us snaga,_ Graznikh thought bitterly.  
”Before ya start,” he said to Margzat as he closed the door, ”I wanna say one thing. You didn't have the authority to punish him for what he did. That's a matter between us Lug-snaga and our master.”  
”I know,” Margzat replied quietly. ”I won't stop ya if ya wanna take it outta my hide.”  
”Not much point if you've already figured that much out, is there?”  
Margzat gave him a mirthless lopsided grin. ”Ya sure?”

”I'm not sure of anything right now,” Graznikh said and sank down onto a chair with a groan, motioning for Margzat to do the same. The chair itself groaned under the big Uruk's weight as he followed suit.  
”So what happened back there? Lost control of your folk already?”  
”Nar, not that bad,” Margzat said. ”Not yet. But yer buddy is makin' some o' them uneasy.”  
”Why?”  
”Well, he's an Uruk but not part o' the pack. 'At's unheard of. He's an Uruk _snaga_ , an' that should be impossible. It's... what's those fancy words the Officers use..? 'Mutually exclusive'. He's not playin' by the rules, an' now he's broken 'em too. If he'd been a part o' the pack, I woulda been forced to kill him.” He grinned a little and scratched his neck. ”Bloody grateful he's not.”  
Graznikh nodded with a concerned look on his face. ”Didn't know it was that bad. I thought ya picked those ya could trust?”  
”So did I,” Margzat rumbled. ”An' I thought I made it clear just how important this mission is. But... Skai, maybe gettin' involved with yer buddy right now wasn't the best of moves.”  
”What, you're gonna back off? If the shit that happened on the ship didn't fuck him up, then that'd do it well an' proper!”  
”Don't worry, I'm not that kind o' coward. But I don't know how to solve this shit. Thought maybe... well, ye're a clever one. Maybe ya could look at it in some way I've missed.” Margzat explained the situation, how Mûrnaluzh was trying to get the other Uruks to believe that Praktash was indeed one of the pack and should be treated accordingly, and how the rival Uruk was using this as a way to get at Margzat.  
”So you're saying these 'pack rules' say that ya can't touch, challenge or defy a High Officer? Their word is law as much as the pack rules?”  
Margzat nodded and Graznikh smirked. ”Think a direct order from a High Officer could get them to back off? If not from you, then at least from him? After all, his is a role the Officer needs and one that can't be replaced on the run.”  
”Sure, that'd... well, it wouldn't settle things, but it'd keep 'em off his back. But.. ya think she'd do it?”  
”Maybe. I'll try.”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed. ”I don't like manipulatin' a High Officer.”  
”It's not manipulatin', it's askin' a favour for the good of all of us. We'll all need his skills once the fighting starts, an' then I don't mean the infighting.”  
Margzat couldn't help but chuckle at that. ”Knew you'd have somethin' for me, Lug-snaga.”  
Suddenly the bond turned ice cold. ”Skai,” Graznikh said with a wince.  
Margzat frowned. ”Somethin' wrong?”  
”My master's pissed,” he replied. ”Real pissed. I think... Gotta go find her. Don't follow, ya don't wanna get in the way of this.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Want a few words with yer buddy as well. I'll wait here.”  
  
  
Graznikh was trotting down the stairs from the keep's gate down into the main courtyard when he encountered Záhovar and Praktash, who were on their way up. They stopped on a ledge and waited until he reached them. He threw Praktash a brief smile, but didn't expect it to be returned or aknowledged so it surprised him when Praktash gave him a thin, unsure smile back.  
”You are free to go,” Záhovar told the Uruk. Praktash inclined his head towards her and nodded to Graznikh before he continued up the stairs. As he passed, Graznikh caught the scent of fresh blood. Then he noticed the bloody whip at Záhovar's belt and frowned. _So she whipped him?_  
”I wanna talk to ya,” he said quietly. Záhovar nodded for him to follow. He grinned mirthlessly as they descended down into the dungeons. ”Bloody fitting place for a serious talk, isn't it?”  
”Why did you hit him?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Why did you whip him?”  
”Because he asked for it. He thought the outside pain would dull the turmoil on the inside.”  
”An' did it?”  
”Of course not. Now why did you hit him?”  
”'Cause he shoulda known better'n to do what he did to ya!”  
”And has it made things any better?”  
”Of course not! It's... I... Skai, fuckthâl!!” He punched the wooden door, trying to calm down. When he continued, it was with a calmer voice. ”I lost my temper on him. It was stupid of me and I shouldn'ta done it. Is that enough for ya?”  
”No. But I am not the one you should ask.”  
”Well, thanks for that.” Graznikh scowled. _This really isn't going the way it should. Skai, I didn't know it'd be this hard!_ The bond hovered just out of reach, coaxing and tempting him to reach for it. Záhovar folded her arms across her chest with a stern expression.   
”I expect you to make up with him. Be upset with me if you like, but the two of you have no reason to quarrel.”  
”If I like..?” he growled. ”Sure, I _want_ to be like this. I _want_ to be yelled at for no reason whatsoever, sleep on the fuckin' floor and get treated like-”  
”I have more than enough reasons, and they are none of your concern,” she hissed.  
”THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS MY REASON FOR BEING HERE?” he roared in her face. ”Ya wanna know what the biggest danger to you is? YOU!!! What the fuck is the point of having a fucking bodyguard if I can't protect ya from yourself? If you keep walking into shit all the time and leave me behind? Huh?!”  
  
Záhovar backhanded him and he staggered back. Then he bellowed as the berserker rage took him, only to topple over in the middle of the charge as he was forcibly snapped out of it. The collar around his neck felt like burning ice and the bond like a barbed whip as she yanked it and dug into his mind with invisible claws. Graznikh howled, twitched and cramped as the world around him blurred and faded. It felt like he was floating, and far behind him a burning light shone. Unable to move, he stared as Záhovar seemed to shiver like the air above a fire. Her frame blackened and grew transparent but around her, the shivering air became bright, not burning but faintly glowing like the Moon. Another face slowly came into view, and for a moment Graznikh saw both Záhovar and Whindaër at the same time, in the same place. Záhovar's face was frozen in the same vicious mask she had worn as she attacked him, but Whindaër stared at him with wide eyes, tears flowing freely and mouth twisting in a grimace of fear and pain and pleading.  
Graznikh started crying, which was how he knew it had to be some kind of dream. _Whin... No... My âmbal, don't look at me like that! Are you still there? D'ya still see me, even though you can't reach out? I'm sorry my one, I'm so sorry!!_ The next moment, a black eagle swept down from above, crash-diving onto them both.

Graznikh groaned loudly as he came to. Every muscle and joint in his body ached as if he had been lying on the rack. Záhovar laid on the floor next to him, unconscious and even paler than usual. Graznikh cursed and began giving her of his strength through the bond. Soon she groaned and came to.  
”Ya stupid bitch,” he murmured to her as he helped her up. ”Don'tcha remember losin' all that blood just a few days ago? An' now you keep running around as if nothing happened. Ya really are your own worst enemy.” She muttered something incoherent in reply, but there were no further assaults on his mind. She clung to his neck and as he wrapped an arm around her waist to support her, he couldn't help but nuzzle her neck a little and inhale her scent. The scent that was Whindaër was slowly fading, replaced by the scent of evil and corruption that was Záhovar. _Skai, don't go! Don't leave, I need that to stay sane in this fuckin' place!_  
  
As Praktash headed up to the High Officer's quarters, he dearly hoped it would be empty so that he could finally collapse. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the tears back. But of course it was not to be; Margzat was waiting for him. Praktash froze in the doorway and locked his eyes on the floor as the krîtar rose from where he had been sitting at the table.  
”Come to finish the job?” Praktash asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Margzat shake his head. ”Then get out.”  
”Can't do that.”  
Praktash sighed and went over to place his bag on the bedroll.  
”I came here to talk,” Margzat said.  
”Blah, blah blah. There, done. Now get lost.” He gritted his teeth as Margzat chuckled that despicable, warm, deep chuckle of his.  
”Sulkin' doesn't suit ya, Bukrazikh.”  
”You can stop callin' me that.”  
”I'm thinkin' I won't, at that.”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Fine. Have it your way.”  
”Givin' up already?”  
”What's the point? You'll get what you want any way.” He kept rummaging through the bag without looking up, even as Margzat moved to stand right next to him. When the krîtar put a hand on his shoulder he tried to shrug it off, but to no avail.  
”Stop it,” Praktash said and pushed his hand away. It soon returned, accompanied by the other one that landed on his back. Praktash gritted his teeth as a lance of white-hot pain shot through him from the lash-wounds.  
”Stop it,” he said a little more forcefully as he batted the hands away. ”I'm not in the mood.”  
”Not tryin' to get ya in the mood,” Margzat rumbled. Praktash growled and pushed the hands away again, and when they returned a fourth time he struck. It was no punch but an openhanded slap; Margzat gave him a suprised, wide-eyed look and rubbed his cheek. Praktash quickly turned away to keep him from seeing his pained wince; the blow had made the lash-wounds crack open.  
”Ya really should grow those claws back out,” Margzat said with a grin. ”With the punch ya pack you'd be bloody lethal with 'em.”  
”Fuck off with what I should,” Praktash growled. ”I like them like this and I don't care what people think.” He pulled a small kettle out of his bag and filled it with water from a bucket. Then he hung it on the chain above the brazier. While waiting for the water to boil, he removed the cloak and his armour.  
Margzat's eyes grew wide when he saw the lashmarks. ”That's gonna go bad if ya don't clean it.”  
Praktash stopped sorting the contents of his healer's bag to give him an incredulous glare. ”No, ya really mean that? Thanks for tellin' me, I _never_ woulda figured that out myself!”  
”Well, now ye're just bein' a bitch.”  
”Flattery'll get ya nowhere.”  
Margzat chuckled at that. ”Good to know ya haven't lost yer tongue, Bukrazikh. Been a bit quiet for a while, I was almost startin' to worry.”  
Praktash replied with a disdainful snort. Once the water was boiling he took it off the fire, added a few pinches of various herbs and let it infuse for a few moments. Then he dipped a rag in the hot solution and began dabbing at his torn back.  
  
”Ye're not gonna reach all o' it like that. Here, gimme that rag an' lie down.”  
”Didn't I tell ya to leave? What the fuck do you _want?_ ”  
Margzat grinned. ”Now there's a sensible question. I'm not leavin' until we've sorted this shit out, an' that's what I wanna do.”  
Praktash sighed. ”Then sort away. I'm not stoppin' ya.” He let Margzat take the rag out of his hands and guide him over to the bedroll. He winced again and had to bite the mattress when the krîtar began cleaning his wounds.  
”What happened back on the ship... 'At wasn't my fault.”  
”Like fuck it wasn't,” Praktash snarled. ”They're your grunts and you're a fuckin' krîtar! You tell them to jump, they should fuckin' jump!”  
”It's not that bloody easy.”  
”Sure it is! You're in charge, they're not. There; solved!”  
”Rules aren't just there to bugger ya, Bukrazikh. They're there for a reason. If we start ditchin' some rules, then others'll see an' think: 'if that rule can be broken, why not this one?' An' that other rule might be the one that keeps yer master from gettin' raped an' left for dead in some backalley. It'd be... I don't know what it's called. But it wouldn't be pretty, an' it'd be bloody bad for all of us.”  
Praktash grunted. ”I still think some rules're stupid.”  
”Which ones?” Margzat asked with a smile.  
”The one that says a krîtar can't keep his own grunts in line.”  
”'S called 'power balance'.”  
”So what's so bloody difficult?” Praktash sat up and held out his hands, palms up. ”This is the commander, and here're the grunts. What kind of stupid rule says this hand can't keep this one in check so they do what they're told?”  
”Because if this hand,” Margzat said and took hold of Praktash's 'grunt hand', ”doesn't like what this hand does,” he took the other hand, ”Then the fingers on this hand might band together an' make a fist to take the other hand out. A good commander doesn't just tell people what to do, he has to listen too. Size an' fightin' skills aren't everything; ya have to be able to think ahead an' make people work together, even when they might be hatin' one another. Or you for that matter.” He looked deeply into Praktash's eyes. ”An' sometimes, a commander has to make difficult choices to keep that balance. Choices they don't wanna make. Choices that hurt.”  
  
Praktash swallowed as he looked into Margzat's deep red eyes. _What is it with me and red eyes anyway?_ Margzat kept talking, but he only listened with half an ear, absently nodding in places where he thought it might make sense to do so. Then Margzat said something that snapped him out of his reverie.  
”I don't want to hurt ya, Bukra. But I don't wanna die myself either. But if I don't tread bloody carefully, Mûrnaluzh'll make sure that happens.”  
Praktash frowned. ”Mûrna? Thought he was alright.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”'At's what he wants ya to think. He want's ya in the pack so he can deal with ya by the rules. I don't. But the uzhâk's already split down the middle, half at his back an' half at mine, so I can't challenge him without riskin' everything.”  
”It's not half. Ya got me too,” Praktash said grimly. ”An' Graznikh. That's gotta count for somethin', yeah?”  
”Sure it does. But we'd lose a lot o' good folks in the fight and be worse off for it later. Besides, I think yer buddy's got a better plan. If he can make it work.”  
”What's he plannin'?”  
”A word from the High Officer'll shut Mûrna up well an' good. For all his ambition an' tough acts, he's not gonna go against an Officer; if he does, no one'll be at his back when I deal with him.” The krîtar's face cracked up in a bloodthirsty grin that sent pleasant shivers down Praktash's back. Then he winced as the lashmarks stung.  
”Get back down, Bukra. That blood won't clean itself off.”  
”It's Bukra _zikh_ ,” Praktash corrected with a grin. ”Stop leavin' out half the name.”  
”So I can call ya that now? Does that mean we're even?”  
”'Course not.” Praktash shot him a lascivious leer. ”I want ya to serve me, hand an' foot, an' crawl on all fours through camp every day for a month.”  
There was a loud 'smack' as Margzat's palm connected with his unprotected butt. Praktash let out a shrill squeak. ”What the fuck is _wrong_ with ya?! Don'tcha think I've enough marks already?”  
Margzat only laughed and kept washing. The solution helped stop the bleeding and once all the black blood was gone, Praktash instructed him to use some of the more potent healing salve that he had made for special cases and smear it on his back to speed up the healing process and dull the pain. Praktash relaxed on the mattress with closed eyes as Margzat worked. Then a small smile began to play on his lips as he felt a hand slide further and further down his back.  
”'Zat...”  
”Got a complaint to make?”  
”...Nar. Not a one.”  
”Good.”  
Praktash whimpered as a slick thumb began to wriggle its way inside. The bed creaked as Margzat placed one of his large knees on the edge for better leverage as he thrust it in with slow, deep moves. Soon Praktash had to bite the mattress again, but not from pain this time. Suddenly he sank the thumb deep inside, pinning Praktash to the mattress and wiggling the very tip of his blunted claw against that most sensitive spot inside. He chuckled darkly as Praktash squealed from sensory overload. Then he leaned in close and whispered in his ear.  
”I'm not gonna repeat myself on this, so take it or leave it now; I'm sorry. Whaddya say Bukrazikh, are we even?”  
”YEEES!!!” came a muffled bellow from within the mattress. Margzat growled and began thrusting again, driving Praktash wild.  
  
The door opened, and in marched an elaborately dressed man who could only be High Officer Dâurinzil. Both Uruks and Officer stared at each other for a few, fateful moments. Then Praktash began giggling hysterically. The High Officer made a face as if he was going to throw up at any moment, turned on his heel and marched back out so fast that he might as well have been running. He didn't close the door.  
Margzat cursed under his breath, but Praktash grabbed his knee with an ecstatic grin. ”Don't you _dare_ stop, ya bastard, I'm this fuckin' close!” The krîtar laughed and soon a roar of completion echoed in the hallways of the fortress.  
”I hope that fancy bastard heard it,” Praktash purred before he passed out.

  
”...I'm not sayin' that it's not bad. But it could be worse, ya know? Could be better too, but I prefer to look on the bright side o' things. Stuff. Whatever. Anyway the point is, uh...”  
Záhovar sat at the desk in her quarters, trying to read the report that Dâurinzil had left for her. Once Graznikh had brought her back to her quarters, he had had enough of everything and gone to bed, leaving guard duty to Sulmurz who had decided to make the most of the situation. Now he was trying to do some small-talk to lighten the mood while desperately trying to ignore the fact that the lady that kept invading his wet dreams was sitting in front of him, wearing a soft, tightly tied silk robe and nothing else. At some point, Záhovar looked up from the paper and seemed to listen to what he said with great interest. The moment Sulmurz noticed it, he began to stutter.  
”Do you ever stop talking?” Záhovar asked. He looked down, unsure of how to reply.  
”...Sorry.”  
She smiled a little. If Sulmurz had learned anything from past experience, it was that a smile meant bad things when given by this particular lady. He began fidgeting.  
”What was your point?”  
”Muh... My what?”  
”The point you were making.”  
Sulmurz stared at her. _Did... did she listen to all my ramblin'?_ ”Well, err... the point is that... Uruks fight all the time. Put more'n one of 'em in a room an' go for a leak; ya can be sure the place'll be trashed when ya get back.” He rolled his shoulders a little to get the tension out. ”Us Orcs though, we're solid. We know how to do things.”  
”I have heard it said that Orcs cannot govern anything more complex than a cave,” Záhovar said absently as she began to read the paper again. Sulmurz deflated a little.  
”Now, that's not right. I held down Morigost just fine for years, no trouble there. Went through a few whips, sure, but 'at's how it is. Where there's a whip, there's a way, as they say!” He gave her a brief grin.  
”And how long do you believe you would be holding it if the Eye was to disappear? If your authority was your own, instead of coming from Him?”  
Sulmurz blinked in confusion. ”Uh... My authority _is_ my own. Captains aren't given their position; we fight an' kill for it.”  
”If I remember correctly, it was Graznikh who did the killing for yours.” She arched an eyebrow at him, and Sulmurz dared to leer.  
”That didn't make things easier,” he purred. ”Had to do a fair bit o' killin' o' my own once ya were outta there. Fine fellows thought I wasn't as tough as I looked... or look.” He winked at her. With a completely impassive, unreadable expression, she winked back before turning back to the report. Sulmurz stared, desperately trying to keep his breathing under control. _What. The. Fuck? Did... did she actually..? Is she toyin' with me, or..? What?_  
”So... Would ya like somethin' to drink, Master?”  
Záhovar seemed to think it over before she answered. ”I would.”  
Sulmurz swaggered over to the table where the drink tray stood.  
”Not wine,” she said. ”Ghâshpau.”  
Sulmurz paused briefly. _Ghâshpau? She drinks that shit?_ He shrugged and reached for the drinking skin at his belt.  
”Not yours. The brown bottle on the table.” _How the fuck did she see that? She's got her back turned!_ He swallowed as he reached for the bottle and one of the glasses, half expecting another protest that never came. The ghâshpau in the bottle was quite different from what Sulmurz was used to; it had a rich scent of herbs and mushrooms and instead of the usual brown colour it shifted in green and brown as he poured it. _Must be a special batch for the Top Ones._  
  
He handed her the glass with a subservient leer that faded when she made no move to take it.  
”You are my cellarer now, are you not? Sample it. For poison.”  
Sulmurz glanced down at the glass, then back up. ”Graznikh does that for ya, does he?”  
”No,” Záhovar replied. ”But you will.”  
He swallowed and gave the glass another look. ”Ya, err... Ya do have antidote, right? If...” She did not reply, and Sulmurz began to wilt a little under her intense gaze. ”Right...” He slowly brought the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip. Záhovar's face changed ever so slightly into one of disapproval and Sulmurz took some more into his mouth before swallowing. Then he waited, terrified.  
He didn't know what poison would feel like, but expected pain or a burning sensation. What happened was nothing like it. The glass fell from his hand and shattered. He gasped as the ghâshpau hit the bottom of his belly and instead of spreading that warm, calm glow seemed to bounce back up. There was a sensation as if his feet were briefly lifted off the ground by something pushing him up from the inside of his skull, then his legs turned to jelly and he collapsed in a gasping heap at the Officer's feet. Záhovar watched with curiosity as the quivering Orc tried to get up without success and chose to remain on the floor a little longer.  
”Special batch indeed,” Sulmurz mumbled. Záhovar walked over to the table to pour another glass for herself; from his spot on the floor he noticed that she was barefoot. He began to pick glass pieces up with shaking hands.  
Záhovar slowly walked past him and Sulmurz couldn't keep his eyes off her feet. The thought of running his hands all the way up her leg flashed by and he had to bite his lip. A sharp hiss broke him out of the fantasy. She lifted her foot with an annoyed glance; a small but sharp piece of glass had lodged itself into her big toe. Sulmurz swallowed hard. _Oh shit... That's it, I fucked up._  
”Remove it,” she said coldly. Sulmurz put the glass pieces that he had gathered on the floor beside her desk. Then he gingerly took her foot in his hand and marvelled for a moment over her soft skin. Then he pinched the glass piece with his claws and yanked it out. A small trickle of blood formed where it had been stuck. Sulmurz stared at it as if mesmerized. _Red. It's red. How can it be red? She can't be a tark or a shara. She's too... Too..._ Before he could come up with a fitting word, a finger brushed his cheek so lightly that he barely registered it. When he did, he immediately let go of her foot and scrambled to his feet.  
”Did I give you permission to rise?” Záhovar hissed softly. Sulmurz sank back down as if the bones had disappeared from his legs.  
”'M sorry, Master,” he whispered. ”Whuh... What d'ya want me to do?”  
Záhovar still held her foot up. ”Clean it.”  
Sulmurz stared at the little cut on her toe. He bunched up a piece of his sleeve, but Záhovar hissed at him.  
”Not with that; it's filthy.”  
”I-I don't have anything that's clean,” Sulmurz whimpered. Her foot turned a little and she lifted his chin with her toes.  
”Then perhaps you should remedy that until next time.” Then she motioned for him to stand as she walked back to the desk. Sulmurz tried to keep the grin from his face as he got back up. _There'll be a next time!_  
After finishing the drink, Záhovar stood. ”I am going to bed. You may leave for now.”  
”Right...” Sulmurz said. "Sure ya don't want a backrub 'fore ya sleep?”  
”Do not push your luck,” she replied with a smile.  
”Right,” Sulmurz said quickly. ”Sorry! I'll just... go then. Right? I'll go.”  
On his way back to the garrison, he couldn't keep from skipping a little. _There'll be a next time! I'm not dead! She totally likes me!!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cape Resolve - a large cliff that juts out into the sea about halfway between Nurngost and Caran. A powerful volcanic current near the bottom of the sea creates a huge maelstrom at the very tip of the cape.  
> Ruzh Moraut – lit. 'guard towards the East', a fortress that guards one of the three bridges across the river Sirlith in eastern Mordor.  
> Fuckthâl – A mix of 'fuck' and 'fachthâl', meaning 'butcher'. Meaning? I have no idea really, and I don't think Graznikh does either.


	7. Of Orcs And Men

When Praktash awoke that evening, the first thing he saw was his lip spike lying on the floor in front of his face. He picked it up and looked at Graznikh, who sat crosslegged on his bedroll.  
”Thought you should have it back,” Graznikh said quietly. ”Ya didn't deserve to lose it in the first place.”  
Praktash gave him a concerned look. ”Did you sleep at all? Ya look wasted.”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”A little.”  
”Liar.” Praktash crawled over to Graznikh's bedroll, leaned his back againt the wall and flinched with a curse as the forgotten lashmarks began to hurt. Graznikh scowled.  
”'S all my fault, isn't it? If I'd kept my shit together, none of this woulda happened.”  
”Well, done's done,” Praktash replied as he put an arm around Graznikh's shoulders. ”You can't change that now, can ya? Work with what ya got, buddy.” He held up the spike and studied it.  
”Ya gonna put that back in?”  
”Not yet. Gotta let the wound heal first, otherwise it might just fall out again.”  
Graznikh grinned a little. ”Is that what I gotta do? Just leave it, let it heal before I try again?”  
Praktash frowned. ”Are we talkin' about my lip now?”  
”Nar, I'm just ramblin'. Forget it.”  
”Hey.” Praktash put his lip spike in a belt pocket. ”I take it from your mood that your talk with Záhovar didn't go all that well.” Graznikh shook his head with a pained expression. ”Then maybe you're right. Leave it for now. Work with what ya got.”  
”What do I have?”  
”Me. 'Zat. Sulmurz an' the other little ones. Screw the uzhâk, they're idiots.”  
”Skai, I forgot! I promised Margzat I'd talk to her 'bout that problem he has, but I forgot!” Graznikh leaned his head against his knees with a groan.  
”Don't worry, you can ask her later.”  
”I doubt she'd entertain any o' my requests now. I messed up real bad back there.”  
”What request?” Záhovar asked. Graznikh jumped where he sat; he hadn't realised that she was still in the room.  
”Good evenin', Master,” Praktash said. Záhovar acknowledged his greeting with a nod before turning her gaze to Graznikh, who refused to meet it and seemed to wilt under it despite her not expressing any anger as far as Praktash could tell.  
”What request would you make of me?”  
Praktash gave Graznikh an encouraging nudge when his buddy hesitated.  
”Well... Krîtar Margzat's worryin' that there might be a rebellion brewing in the ranks,” Graznikh began.  
”Is he not in control of his own soldiers?”  
”There's just the one,” Praktash said. ”Mûrnaluzh, big guy with a two-hander, he thinks he's up for 'Zat's position. Half the uzhâk's his already, an' if he makes a move for it there'll be a bloodbath on both sides.”  
”If Margzat is not capable of keeping him in line, then perhaps he deserves his fate. I cannot have an incapable commander.”  
”'Zat's not incapable!!” Praktash shouted. Then he shut his mouth. ”Sorry... Didn't mean to... But it's true, he's really good! If anyone should suffer for all this, it's me.”  
  
Záhovar frowned as she dressed. ”Perhaps you should explain this problem in deeper detail.”  
Praktash and Graznikh described the Uruks' pack sense, how Praktash was making the others uncomfortable because of his nonconforming ways and Margzat's difficult position because of it.  
”I guess the others think he's weaker 'cause of him an' me... Well...”  
”Because you are fucking each other?” Záhovar asked. ”Why would that make a difference? And why do you smile like that?”  
”Just not used to a Top One talkin' like that,” Praktash chuckled.  
”How else would we speak?” Záhovar asked with a smirk.  
”I dunno, like Officers? All strict an' sober an' grim, y'know? Anyway, about 'Zat...”  
”Why do you call him that?”  
”Well... It's a nickname.”  
”Hm.” Záhovar looked thoughtful. ”I have not heard my nickname used in a long while.”  
Praktash smiled. ”You've a nickname?”  
Záhovar nodded while looking at Graznikh, who was staring at the floor with a sullen expression. Praktash frowned. _He looks almost the way he did when he lost his Elf._  
”Ya got a real name now,” Graznikh whispered.  
”So does Margzat. And you.”  
Graznikh seemed to retreat even further into himself. ”Just drop it.”  
She kept looking at him with eyes devoid of emotion for a while, then she nodded. ”Very well.” She turned to Praktash. ”I will entertain your request, this once. Stay away from the uzhâk until I have spoken with them.”  
”Thanks!” Praktash said with a big grin. Graznikh muttered something that could have been interpreted as ”thanks”. Praktash squeezed his shoulders with a concerned look, and only just caught the unveiled sadness in Záhovar's eyes before she turned to the door.  
  
They gathered near the eastern gate the following evening. The Uruks seemed a little subdued; from Margzat's report, Záhovar had not been gentle. Graznikh gave Záhovar a look as she walked up to him with a knapsack slung over her shoulder. ”You're not gonna ride?”  
Záhovar shook her head. ”With the slow going, I cannot bring enough feed. Besides, I cannot fight nor use sorcery from horseback. It would only be in the way.”  
”Coulda used it for rations,” he grumbled. ”Only good horse is a dead one.”  
”Where do you think the dried meat came from?”  
Sulmurz burst out laughing.  
Záhovar gave him a quizzical look. ”I fear the joke is lost on me.”  
”Well, at least it isn't boiled, mashed an' stewed,” Sulmurz managed to wheeze. Despite himself, Graznikh began to laugh as well. Eventually they managed to tell the tale of Graznikh's unfortunate horseback journey.  
”He looked like he'd been shitting blood all the way from Blog Shakâmb,” Sulmurz snickered. ”And then he waited so long afore he got his legwear off that it'd stuck to his thighs! Lucky he had me there to save him.” He made a tearing sound with his mouth and made a move as if pulling something from Graznikh's legs. Praktash chuckled and winced at the same time.  
”Skai, you poor bastard!”  
Margzat was laughing so hard that he could barely stand straight. ”Oh fuck, it's all my fault!”  
”How's it your fault?” Praktash asked.  
”I gave him that bloody horse! Thought I'd do him a favour an' help him get to Lugburz a li'l faster. Sorry Lug-snaga, I shoulda sent some paddin' along too.”  
”Don't worry krîtar, it healed.”  
”Krîtar, drartul,” Záhovar said. ”Give the order to move out.”  
  
Spirits were high as they passed the bridge over Sirlith, leaving the last vestiges of Lugburz-influenced civilisation behind. The Orcs traded stories from their time outside of the Black Land and the Uruks pretended not to be curious. Praktash was the only one who broke the wall of Uruk haughtiness to pepper them with questions.  
”I don't get how Dwarves could be a danger to anything,” he said with a sceptic grin. ”I mean, they're like little bricks of meat with hair on 'em.”  
”Bricks hit hard if ya toss 'em,” Kraash replied.  
”Don't underestimate them, lad,” Ghakû said. ”They're just the right height to headbutt ya in the crotch, an' they tend to wear helmets.”  
”With horns,” Mikbork added.  
”Yup, horny helmets.” It took Kraash a moment to understand what the others were laughing about. ”What? Oh, for fuck's sake!”  
”Maybe we should start breedin' Dwarves,” Margzat said thoughtfully. ”Maybe ya could look into it, if it pleases ya Lug-durbatar.”  
”Why is that?” Záhovar asked.  
”Well, if they're like bricks... Should be easy to stack. Good for rations. An' the hair could be used as stuffin'. I dare say they won't burn as quickly as strawbags.” He shot Praktash a smouldering glance which the healer responded to by blushing until he was almost as dark as the krîtar.  
Since the mood was so good, Graznikh decided to ruin it with the 'ten thousand tokens'-question once they stopped for the day.  
”So, now that we're on the road; who cooks?”  
The Orcs all pretended like they hadn't heard the question. All the Uruks pointed at Margzat.  
Graznikh gave him an inquisitive look. ”You cook?”  
Margzat shrugged. ”Sure, why not?”  
Sulmurz snickered. ”Thought ya were a krîtar, not a kitchen-snaga.”  
”Watch it, drartul,” Margzat growled. ”If I wanna cook, I cook! Ya wanna fight about it? Good,” he said as Sulmurz shook his head. The krîtar took the large kettle that Golnauk had brought from Ruzh Moraut and placed it over the fire. ”One spoon o' my stew an' you'll be desertin' from Morigost at th' next sunset.”  
”Or runnin' all the way back to it,” Sulmurz mumbled and dodged Margzat's ladle.  
”Don't worry Sulmurz,” Praktash purred. ”I know the grub in Morigost is a little spicier than the usual roadfare. I can salt it a little extra for ya if ya like.” With that, he gave his loincloth and its content a shake and laughed out loud as Sulmurz's face contorted with disgust.  
”Ya do that, an' you'll get the ladle,” Margzat growled.  
”You'd really hit me? _Me?_ ” Praktash asked innocently. Margzat leaned forward with a wicked grin.  
”Nar. Not hit.” He lifted the ladle and made a move as if shoving it up into something, then twisted it. Praktash jokingly placed a hand over his gaping mouth and gave him a wide-eyed, shocked look. Some of the others laughed. Then the corners of his mouth twitched and an increasingly deranged grin spread across his face. Margzat began to growl.  
”Don't. You. Dare.”  
  
The insanity in Praktash's eyes only got worse after the threat and suddenly his expression changed to an almost swooning one. ”Then perhaps you should lock your cookware up better,” he said breathlessly.  
Graznikh had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. ”Perhaps we should get ya a chastity belt? I'm sure there's a smith in the next outpost that'll be happy to earn some extra tokens on a custom order.”  
”What's a chastity belt?” Margzat asked.  
”It's something the tarks use,” Graznikh explained. ”Some of their men are so bloody prude that they think they'll 'fall to evil ways' if they get horny. So they invented this iron an' leather contraption that ya strap between your legs an' lock at the back, with nails pointing inwards aimed right at your crotch. So whenever ya see something ya like, if your dick so much as twitches, well... Ouch.”  
”Ouch,” Margzat agreed and Sulmurz nodded with a wince. Praktash wore a blank, wide-eyed expression and now he seemed genuine about it.  
”So maybe we should get us one of those,” Graznikh continued with a wicked little leer, ”see what our dear, sweet healer's like after a month of no boners. Or maybe we should get one without the spikes, so he can get hard but not do shit about it..? An' if we tease him a little, a lick here an' there, some clawing perhaps...”  
”You're evil,” Praktash whispered. ”I thought we were buddies, but you, _you,_ are fuckin' evil!”  
”Never said I wasn't,” Graznikh replied with a friendly grin. The Uruk hesitated briefly, then he slid up behind Graznikh and sucked his entire ear into his mouth. On the outside Graznikh was completely calm, but on the inside he howled with want. ”You know what'll happen if ya continue down that road, buddy.”  
”Hmm?” Praktash teased the very tip of his ear with his tongue and looked at him. Graznikh gave him a calm, assertive look and the Uruk seemed to wilt a little. He slowly backed away with an almost frightened expression as Graznikh kept staring at him until he was back on the other side of the fire.  
”Gettin' bright out,” Praktash said with an insecure grin. ”Best get some shut-eye, before... yeah, I'll just do that.” He got to his feet and quickly disappeared into Margzat's tent.  
Margzat looked after him with a disappointed frown. ”What, ye're not even gonna taste th' stew?”  
Sulmurz stared after him. ”The fuck'd ya do to him?”  
”Trust me,” Graznikh said. ”Ya don't wanna know.”  
  
Not knowing where else to go, Graznikh rolled out his sleeping mat outside the wall of Záhovar's little tent. Akûl rolled up next to him, unbothered by the sun. Sulmurz, Mikbork, Kraash and Ghakû had a lean-to which sheltered them from rain and sun, as had the Uruks. Margzat had a tent as well, a simple little A-frame where Praktash had holed up. Graznikh had nothing; either Záhovar had assumed that he already had shelter or she did not care. Graznikh seethed as he tried to curl up in what little shade there was to be found. _You just want me to beg, don'tcha? To come crawlin' on my hands'n knees an' beg ya to let me in. You'd be just fine with leavin' me sleepless for the rest o' the trip, 's long as you get what ya want. Fuckin' bitch._ Eventually he managed to find a spot where the shade was deep enough for comfort and fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
_Whindaër gasped, and Graznikh's heart soared as her nails dug into his skin. The soft furs underneath grew increasingly wet as he fucked her and he barely noticed the pine trees creaking in the wind above them. Her long, dark hair splayed around them both and he buried his face in the soft tresses. Her cunt fit so well around his cock; deep enough to take it all, but tight enough to give him a bit of a resistance to work with. He did not have to wonder if she enjoyed it as much as he did; there was no need for words when the evidence was right there, all around him. In her beautiful eyes that reflected the stars as they widened and darkened with arousal; in her body that rose to meet his and tensed as the pressure built; in the bond that embraced and caressed every inch of his being. He groaned against her neck as he thrust harder and faster. Whindaër cried out and he placed a hand on her hip to support her, fanning the fire in her blood and easing her into an intense climax. The sound and scent alone sent him over the edge as well, bucking and roaring. Take me. Take all of me. My âmbal. My everything. I don't need anything as long as you're with me._

Graznikh woke up just as he came, soiling the inside of his loincloth with spunk. He gasped and closed his eyes, desperately trying to hold on to the dream even as it slipped from his grasp. For a long while he lay still, listening to the sound of tent cloth moving in the wind. The air was clean now that the wind came from the East, but the wind was biting cold. The sky had clouded over, so Graznikh did not have to suffer the sun as he went to relieve himself. Sulmurz had guard duty but was snoring as loudly as the rest and did not react when Graznikh passed him. Graznikh didn't care; he was not in the mood for disciplining people at the moment.  
He had not had dreams like this in a long time; mostly it was just fleeting images of death and fighting or nightmares that left him sweating and whimpering. As the grief and pain of loss welled up, he almost preferred the nightmares. It grew until it threatened to overwhelm and choke him, crashing against the dam inside and surging high. Graznikh envied Praktash at moments like this; he didn't seem to have that dam. He could cry a river of tears and then get back up and stand straight again. He had an outlet and could laugh with ease despite all the shit he had been through. The dam inside Graznikh's chest held the pain in place, amplifying and guiding it into a mill driven by all the tears he could not shed, grinding and refining the pain and grief into bitterness, violence and blackest hate.  
He leaned against the stone and allowed himself a moment of weakness before tucking his now limp dick back into the loincloth and staggered back to his soiled sleeping mat. He did not want to care about the ghost of the woman he loved that slept in the tent, but could not help but listen for the sound of her breath and movements. He thought he heard a quiet sob, but shut everything out as much as he could as he lay back down. He didn't want to know if she had been watching his dreams, nor what she thought of it.  
  
He could hear Praktash and Margzat speak quietly, but ignored it. Shortly after, a hooded and cloaked Praktash squatted next to him.  
”Hey,” the Uruk said. ”You don't hafta sleep alone. Come bunk with me an' 'Zat, we've got plenty o' room.”  
”I'm fine,” Graznikh lied. ”Leave the dead weight in the sun.” Praktash grabbed his shirt and pulled him off the sleeping mat with a low growl.  
”Now you listen here,” he snarled. ”I don't give a shit about your fallin'-out, or your mood, or whatever! You're _not_ dead weight! An' I'm sick of ya shuttin' me out when it's so bloody obvious ya can't handle this on your own!”  
”I don't wanna-” Graznikh began but was silenced by Praktash's hand on his mouth.  
”I don't care! _I_ want you in there! Now you get your pretty white arse over to that tent before I drag ya there!”  
They stared at each other for a while, ignoring the grumpy shouts for them both to shut up. Then Graznikh grinned weakly. ”Sounds like Margzat's rubbed off on ya.”  
”An' what the fuck makes ya think that?” Praktash replied and returned his grin as he stood and pulled Graznikh to his feet. ”Now march!”  
Margzat opened an eye as they entered the tent. ”Coulda told us,” he rumbled.  
”I'm not one for begging favours,” Graznikh replied.  
”Ain't that the truth,” Praktash said cheerfully as he crept into the tent behind Graznikh. ”This one ya gotta lead to water an' dunk his head in a couple times before he figures out how to drink.”  
”Ya can be kinda stubborn too at times, buddy.”  
”Ain't that the truth,” Margzat chuckled. Praktash uncorked a drinking skin and shoved it against Graznikh's face.  
”I don't need ghâshpau this late.”  
”It's just booze,” Praktash assured him. ”The strong kind.” Graznikh took the skin with a nod of thanks, took a mouthful and swallowed quickly. He winced as the alcohol burned all the way down and back up. After another swig he felt his muscles give to the warm, pleasant glow and Praktash's hands that massaged his shoulders. Praktash lied down and pulled him into spooning position. Margzat closed up behind and flung an arm over them both. Soon, all three were sleeping soundly and the dreams left Graznikh alone for the rest of the day.  
  
  
Praktash grumbled as he woke. Something was tickling his arm and no matter how he ignored it, it simply would not go away. Margzat was snoring loudly beside him, so it could not be him. _Probably just a bug or somethin'..._ Still half-asleep, he brushed his arm to get rid of the tickling sensation. His hand bumped into something fuzzy and silky and _big_ , and there was a high-pitched screeching noise. His eyes flew open and he looked up at his arm and into a myriad of little black eyes.  
His howl of terror threw the camp into chaos. Margzat and several of the other Uruks shot up roaring and scrambled for their weapons. Záhovar stuck her head out of her tent with a bewildered look and Graznikh leapt to his feet, knives in hand. Then they all stopped to stare at Praktash, who was jumping around wildly, flailing his hands and hitting himself. On his shoulderblade sat something that looked like a giant, colourful bow.  
”Get it off me, get it off me!!”  
”What the everloving FUCK is that!?”  
”I don't care, it's fuckin' _chewin'_ on me!! Get it off!” Praktash howled. Margzat started laughing so hard that he fell onto his tent, so no help would come from that direction. Graznikh tried to hit the winged monster loose, but it only dug its claws in harder in Praktash's thick hide. Margzat eventually managed to stop laughing enough to come and help. He grabbed the creature's wings and pulled it off Praktash's back with a scraping sound.  
”What in the depths of the Void..?” Záhovar hissed. Graznikh shuddered as he took a closer look. The strange creature had large, silky wings coloured in black and red with a motif that looked disturbingly like the Great Eye. Its fuzzy body was the size of a well-fed rat and it had large, facetted eyes that shimmered in oily black and blue. Its six white legs were hairy and ended in two black claws on each foot. It also had a long spiralling proboscis with two pairs of mandibles with needle-like fangs on its head, one on each side of the proboscis. It kept giving off an odd screeching sound as it thrashed and tried to pull free.  
”That's the biggest and sickest-looking butterfly I've ever seen!” Graznikh exclaimed.  
Praktash whimpered, holding his bleeding arm where the giant butterfly had bitten him.  
”Welcome to Lithlad,” Mûrnaluzh said with a grin. ”Home to the Lugburz Special Mission Flyin' Corps. Also known as the nastiest bugs you'll ever come across.”  
”How does it make that sound?” Kraash asked.  
”Wings,” Margzat said. ”See the little ones on each side o' the big ones? It sorta rubs 'em together, makin' 'em squeak.”  
”Lucky it's just the one,” Ghakû said with a nasty grin. ”These li'l buggers usually hunt in packs.”  
”Oh, FUCK!” Margzat roared and immediately smashed it against a rock. ”I bloody forgot; let's not stay here! Go on, go!”  
The camp and tents were packed up at record speed. As they took off running there was another sound in the distance; like silk sheets brushing against each other. Graznikh cursed when he realised that it was the sound of hundreds of giant butterfly wings.  
”Like fuck'm I gonna get taken down by bloody butterflies! That shit just doesn't happen!”  
  
The Orcs and Officer ran for their lives, but Death On Wings kept gaining on them.  
”How the fuck can they fly so fast?” Praktash gasped.  
”Wind's turned,” Sulmurz grunted.  
”Hand me a water skin,” Záhovar said. Margzat ran up next to her and gave her his. She slowed down and turned back towards the swarm.  
”Run!” she commanded. ”Do not wait for me!”  
”Are ya crazy!?” Graznikh exclaimed and tried to turn around, but Praktash grabbed his collar and dragged him along. Záhovar stopped as she reached for the Unseen and uncorked the water skin. Cupping her hand, she poured some water in it and threw it at the butterflies. The water drops formed little icicles that shredded their wings and pierced their bodies, but she could not take them all out. She kept throwing ice as she took off after the Orcs. Soon Sulmurz, Mikbork and two of the Uruks began firing arrows at them as well. A few hours later, the remaining butterflies gave up and they were finally safe.  
”Remind me never to go to th' fuckin' Desolation again,” Graznikh groaned as he laid down on his back in the middle of the road. ”How ya doin', buddy?”  
Praktash smeared some healing salve on his arm and looked thoroughly shaken. At Graznikh's question he looked up briefly and gave a quick nod without answering.  
Mikbork whimpered. ”I thought butterflies were supposed to be pretty little things, not blood-suckin' monsters!”  
”Never seen anything like it,” Graznikh replied. Then he noticed Záhovar's smirk. ”What?”  
”Test subjects,” she said. ”Let's just say that not all of the experiments in Blog Shakâmb went as well as the Black Uruks.”  
Praktash winced and Margzat let out an indignant rumble at being called an experiment.  
”But... Why _butterflies_?” Sulmurz asked. ”An' why set 'em loose like this?”  
”Why not?” Záhovar replied with a creepy little smile.  
”Well, uh... spiders woulda been worse... Maybe?”  
”Nar, it's already been done,” Graznikh grunted as he stood up. ”Butterflies... 'That's just fuckin' _evil!_ ”  
  
Since they were already running, Margzat suggested that they keep doing so. And since Záhovar agreed with him and nobody wanted to argue with the krîtar's whip, they did so until it was time to stop for the morning. Margzat put together a meal and afterwards, Záhovar revealed the next step of their journey.  
”There is a newly established settlement along the South Road,” she said, ”near one of the old outposts just beyond the Khandian border. A place where the caravans stop and rest before passing the crater and skirting the eastern spur of the Outer Fence. Hopefully the leaders of that settlement will know more of these attacks.”  
Graznikh nodded thoughtfully. ”How far are we from this settlement?”  
”A week or so, I believe. Why do you ask?”  
He stared into the fire, deep in thought for a moment before he replied. ”I've a suggestion, if you'll entertain it.” He waited for her to nod before he continued. ”Might be smart to split up before we reach that settlement. No one'll think it weird if a High Officer marches in with a bunch of Uruks in tow. They don't need to know 'bout the rest of us. Me, Sulmurz and the others can snoop around a little, see if we can pick up some rumours or better down at the alehouse, if there is one.”  
Záhovar thought it over before she gave him a reluctant nod. ”Very well. But try not to get too drunk. And do not chase after baseless whispers.”  
”Don'tcha worry, we know how to lay low,” Sulmurz replied cheerfully. ”An' how to make folks tell the truth.” He purred at the thought and cracked his fingers. Záhovar gave him a blank look before turning to look into the flames.  
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. Kraash and Ghakû snickered and Margzat shook his head and muttered something about snaga before leaving to get some sleep. Sulmurz stretched with a confident grin that faded when he spotted the sly, lazy leer that Praktash wore while undressing him with his eyes, black tongue dancing across his lips. Sulmurz lowered his arms and twisted his face into a disgusted grimace that Praktash responded to by snapping his fangs towards him with a lustful purr. Sulmurz tried to sit so that Praktash saw as little of him as possible.  
”Easy, buddy,” Graznikh chuckled. ”You're being counterproductive.” Praktash gave him a wide-eyed, innocent grin that looked so deranged that even Graznikh was a little creeped out by it. What creeped him out for real was the identical grin that he spotted on Záhovar's face just before she rose and turned her back to him. Sulmurz must have spotted it as well because he was now staring at the ground, nostrils flaring in fear and hugging his knees tightly. Graznikh felt a bit sorry for him and leaned in close.  
”She's just messin' with ya.”  
”What the fuck would you know?!” Sulmurz snarled. Then he snapped out of it and scowled. ”Skai... Didn't mean to...”  
”Don't worry pal, I'm a big guy. I can take it.”  
”Sure ya can,” Praktash purred from the other side of the fire.  
”Go to bed, Uruk,” Graznikh said sternly and pointed with his whole hand towards the tent.  
”Fine,” Praktash said. ”Ya comin' too?”  
”Nar, I'm takin' first watch. Don't forget to shake the bedroll afore ya lie down in it; there might be bugs.”  
”Did ya have to remind me?!” Praktash whimpered and snarled at Sulmurz when he laughed. ”I'm gonna have nightmares...”  
”How's the back?” Graznikh asked quietly when he crept into the tent later that day.  
Praktash scowled. ”I've been told it looks good.”  
”Ya sure it was his back ya looked at?” Graznikh asked Margzat. The krîtar chuckled at that without opening his eyes.  
  
They kept the high pace for three more nights and gained a lot of ground. After that they slowed down; Záhovar did not want to attract unwanted attention by moving carelessly in the dark. When they were a night's journey from the settlement, Graznikh took Akûl, Sulmurz, Ghakû, Kraash and Mikbork and left his master and the uzhâk behind. They left the road and went towards the mountains for a few hours until they reached a nameless spur that reached eastward from the southeastern arm of the Outer Fence. On the other side, Graznikh knew, the settlement would be located.  
Mikbork kept scouting ahead to make sure they did not run into any rebels or other unsavoury folk, but that was clearly not all he did. When he returned after one brief outing, he was grinning happily and held some kind of treasure. Upon Graznikh's request, he revealed a dark, rainbow-coloured mushroom.  
”That shit gives a trip just by lookin' at it,” Sulmurz commented.  
”I'm sure Praktash'd be interested in seein' that,” Graznikh said.  
”Nar! It's mine- Hey!!” Mikbork's face went from possessive to disappointed as Kraash snatched it from him and shoved it in his mouth, chewing loudly. Graznikh couldn't believe his eyes.  
”How many kinds of stupid are you?! That stuff might be poisonous!”  
”Nar, I know this stuff,” Kraash said after he had swallowed and picked his teeth with a claw. ”Colourful 'shrooms're never poisonous.”  
”You are one daft fuck.”  
Mikbork sulked.  
  
  
Graznikh and his little band reached the settlement early that evening. It felt good to run with a band again, even though it was only temporary.  
Four guards stood at the gate. They looked to be half asleep at first, but perked up when five Orcs and a warg bore down on them from the east. The band stopped at a somewhat safe distance and Graznikh took a few steps forward, indicating that he was the leader.  
”Don't tell me you're gonna try to stop us.”  
”Orcs are not welcome here!”  
”Oh, fuck off! You've got a stronghold right at your doorstep, don't try that shit with us!”  
”Then perhaps the stronghold is where you should go. We prefer to keep to ourselves.”  
”A trading post that keeps to itself? An' turns away good tokens when they come aplenty? How daft can ya be?”  
”And what tokens would a bunch of grunts from the Black Tower have?”  
”Enough,” Graznikh said and held up his token bag, shaking it a little. ”C'mon, let us in. We're not here to quarrel, just get a drink or two an' some news.”  
”What news do you bring?” one of the guards said before the others could stop him. Graznikh toyed with a fistful of tokens as he spoke.  
”Heard there's some trouble with raids,” he said and tossed a token to the guard. ”The tarks have upped the war effort, they say.” Another token flew in the direction of another guard. ”An' there's a High Officer on the war path with a bunch o' Black Uruks in tow. Saw 'em on the way here.” A third token found its way into a hand and pocket. ”If I were you, I'd clean the place up right quick. Those bastards're no fun at all.”  
The guards began to look concerned. ”A High Officer?”  
Graznikh nodded as he threw the last guard a token. ”Dunno anything else, but with the raids an' shit, I'd say they're comin' here to do your cleaning for ya. Anyone in here got rebellious thoughts, they'd better scram for the hills.”  
”I heard they read yer mind,” Sulmurz said with a nervous wince.  
”Trust me lad; they do far worse'n that,” Ghakû replied grimly.  
”I heard one of 'em's not trustin' the Living,” Mikbork proclaimed. ”He's got nothing but wraiths servin' him.”  
”As you can hear, we're probably the least of your problems,” Graznikh said to the frightened guards. ”Let's be civil. We just want a drink, then we'll be on our way. No trouble. Haven't had proper booze in weeks; ya know what that can do to a guy, don'tcha?”  
The one who seemed to be the leader smirked a little, thinking it over while absently fondling his coinpurse. Then he nodded, but not before Graznikh had flicked a few more tokens his way.  
”Glad we came to an understanding,” Graznikh said as the band passed.  
”Can't be too careful,” the man replied. ”'The Blinking Eye's right up the street; hard to miss.”  
Graznikh gave him an incredulous look. ”What the fuck did ya call it?!”  
”It's not _that_ eye,” one of the other guards snickered and their leader looked embarrassed.  
Graznikh gave them a confused frown as they left.  
  
”Well, now we know what they meant,” Ghakû said once they spotted the rundown building. ”If that's not a tavern's arsehole, I'll cook my boots.”  
Kraash looked confused for a moment, then he burst out into raucous laughter. He was still snickering as they entered.  
”I doubt they'll appreciate ya indoors,” Graznikh told Akûl. ”You okay with waitin' outside?” The warg nodded and lay down around the corner where he would be out of sight of those entering or leaving the alehouse.  
”Howl if ya need me,” Graznikh said before he followed the others.  
The inside of the alehouse was not much better than the outside. The main room was empty, but there were some muffled sounds and low voices from upstairs and someone was humming a broken tune from the kitchen. At least Graznikh thought it sounded broken, but he wasn't exactly an expert on music. Void knew he couldn't hold a tune of any kind himself.  
The barkeep looked up in surprise when he spotted the Orcs but quickly found his tongue.  
”Don't see many of your kind here.”  
”That's not our fault,” Graznikh replied.  
”Cosy place ya got here,” Sulmurz said and kicked Kraash's leg when he began to snicker again.  
”Tell me about it,” the barkeep snorted. ”Bloody stupidest idea I ever had, settling in a trading post.”  
”Ya don't get much traffic?”  
”Tons! All traders, unfortunately. Bloody jackals hold their coin purses tighter than their own daughters.” He gave Kraash a suspicious look as the young Orc crashed to the floor, howling with laughter. ”What's wrong with him?”  
”Oh, he ate a funny-coloured mushroom on the way here,” Sulmurz said. ”Been like that ever since; it'll pass.”  
”And if it doesn't?”  
”Then we'll leave him by the next flower patch or something so he's got something to giggle at. We can pick him up on the way back.”  
”So what've ya got?” Graznikh asked. ”Dusty road an' all that.”  
”Tokens up front, if you don't mind,” the barkeep said. ”You know how it is.”  
”Yeah, I get it; it's not that ya don't trust us, ya just don't trust us at all.”  
”Clever man.”  
”I ain't no Man, tark.”  
”Clever Orc, then. And I'm no tark, so keep the accusation.”  
Graznikh chuckled and the barkeep's smile grew friendlier as they voiced their orders and started dumping tokens on the bar according to the prices he mentioned. Ghakû began to grumble a little over the excessive prices but Sulmurz elbowed him in the ribs.  
”What'll it be?” he asked Kraash, who now lay on his back giggling hysterically at a piece of straw.  
”Everything! I feel great!”  
”One mug of everything then,” the barkeep said with a smile before Graznikh could stop him. ”That'll be all the tokens in your purse, your weapons, armour, clothes and teeth.”  
”Oh, for fuck's sake!!”  
A vicious struggle ensued as the three Orcs tried to keep Kraash's clothes on his body.  
  
An hour or so later, Kraash was sulking into his mug.  
”I feel horrible,” he whined.  
”That's what ya get for eatin' stuff you dunno the name of,” Ghakû told him.  
”But my sire always said it was fine! He ate hundreds of 'em an' nothing ever happened!”  
”And where was this? What happened to him by the way?”  
”Off west, outside the Fence an' beyond the river. An' he died 'cause he laughed for too long at a pissed-off troll. Happiest guy I ever met, my ol' pa.” He shot Sulmurz a nasty look as the former Captain began to shake from suppressed laughter. ”Yeah, you laugh! Fuckin' inconsiderate bastard.”  
”You deserve everything,” Mikbork muttered. ”'At was _my_ 'shroom!”  
”There now, lads, don't bicker,” Graznikh said while trying to keep his voice neutral.  
”'At's easy for you to say,” Kraash said and belched. Then he groaned. ”Oh fuck... Where's the privy?”  
”Dunghill,” the barkeep said absently. ”Out the back door behind the stable. Don't fall in.”  
Kraash bolted from the table while clutching his upset stomach.  
”I want my 'shroom back if it comes out whole!” Mikbork shouted after him. That was too much for Sulmurz who started laughing until he was sobbing with his face against the rough-hewn table. Graznikh and Ghakû were not much better, and even Mikbork began to snicker after a while.  
The alehouse slowly began to fill up as people returned from whatever livelihood they had in the settlement. A few gave them outright unfriendly looks, but most tried to make it seem like they ended up as far away from the Orcs as possible by happenstance, greeting each other loudly and in general tried to ignore the 'Orc in the room', literally. The Orcs talked and laughed as well, and Graznikh made sure to nod to whomever he happened to lock gazes with. Some Men looked offended and he realised that he hadn't been socialising with any but his own kind for too long. Tarks and shara had hundreds of little unspoken rules that differed between different areas and even settlements; it was impossible to learn them all but sometimes they could mean the difference between freely given information and a blade in the guts.  
  
”Gotta take a leak,” Graznikh told Sulmurz. ”I'll check on Kraash while I'm at it.” Sulmurz nodded and turned back to Ghakû. Graznikh walked out through the back door and followed the barkeep's instructions, although they weren't really necessary; he could smell the dunghill from afar. Behind the alehouse was a little farmyard flanked by two shabby stables, one on each side. When Graznikh reached the dunghill, Kraash was nowhere in sight. _Where the fuck has that rascal wandered off to now?_ He relaxed and did his business. As he tucked his cock back in, he heard a strange, muffled sound and frowned. The farmyard was empty, which meant that it must have come from inside one of the stables. _There it is again._ This time he managed to pinpoint where it came from. He suspected that the stable doors creaked, so he used his claws to climb up into one of the high windows on the upper floor where the hay was kept. A faint smell of mould and dusty hay lay on the entire upper floor but the planks here were thankfully silent. There were several holes in the floor where hay was thrown down to the horses below, but now the stable was empty. Graznikh listened for a while at one of them, and now he was sure that the muffled sound was a whimper. It was followed by the sound of ripping cloth. He hauled himself down and landed soundlessly on the floor right behind Kraash. He was lying on top of a woman in one of the stalls, but judging by his frustrated grunts he hadn't managed to fuck her yet. Graznikh grabbed him by the neck without a word and backhanded him hard. Kraash's lip exploded in a spray of black blood and he staggered back, cursing and growling.  
”Didn't I tell the guards we weren't here to cause trouble?” Graznikh growled quietly. ”What the fuck does this look like?!”  
”Fuck off,” Kraash snarled. ”This ain't trouble, she fuckin' wanted it!”  
Graznikh looked at the woman. She had dark brown skin, frizzy black hair, a broad nose and eyes like cold coals; unusually beautiful for a Mannish female. Kraash had bound and gagged her, which spoke rather clearly about her enthusiasm over what he had been trying to do. She stared with terrified eyes as Graznikh lifted her by the torn blouse and sniffed her neck. She smelled of fear and sweat, there was also the scent of Man which Graznikh didn't fancy at all. But on top of it all was that particular, unmistakable scent of a woman in heat, ready to breed. It was fainter on Men than on Orcs, but there all the same. The scent and its implications made even Graznikh's cock pulse a little. No doubt Kraash had picked it up the moment she passed him.  
  
The next moment he caught a flash of metal and had to drop the woman as Kraash pulled a knife on him. But the younger Orc was clumsy and still affected by the intoxication of the mushroom he had eaten. As he lunged, Graznikh grabbed his wrist and elbow and twisted both until he heard his shoulder crack. Kraash bellowed in pain. Graznikh yanked his dislocated shoulder back in place and let him go.  
”We done here? Or are ya gonna be even more stupid?” Graznikh's threating growl was no more than a low thrum in his throat, but Kraash shook his head, looked away and backed off. ”Get back to the others. I'll follow when I'm done here. An' don't speak one fuckin' word about this or I'll cut out your tongue.”  
He watched as Kraash scurried off before turning to the woman. Her eyes brimmed with tears as he squatted beside her. ”D'ya speak Common?”  
She nodded.  
”If I remove that gag, will ya scream?”  
As she shook her head, he took the knife that Kraash had dropped. Once the gag was off she coughed a little and squeezed her eyes shut, crying silently.  
”Now then,” Graznikh said in the softest voice he could muster. ”I ain't gonna fuck ya. But before I let ya go, I want ya to answer some questions; can ya do that for me?”  
”What do you want to know?” Her Southern accent was so heavy that Graznikh had trouble understanding her. _Probably from the same place as that Indur fellow. She looks the part too._  
”D'ya work here?”  
”Yes, in the kitchen.”  
”So ya hear a bit o' rumours from the road?”  
She nodded.  
”Fine. I wanna know whatever ya can tell me of the rebels that've been attackin' the supply caravans to Lugburz. Names, rumours, anything. Have anyone been trading suspicious merchandise in the area? Have anyone spoken about them in positive terms? Speak.”  
”I haven't heard anything about the raiders themselves,” she said. ”But there's a man – Angrenoc – who used to come in here for a drink often. He has a... problem with it, and rarely had money to pay. Now he has, and won't say where he's gotten it. Perhaps the priests know more; he used to be very devout.”  
”Priests?”  
”Yes, an enclave of the Temple of the God-King has a monastery and a shrine just west of town. I've... never been there.”  
”Why am I not surprised to find those here?” Graznikh muttered to himself.  
”Can I go? You said you would let me go.” She began to sob again as Graznikh looked er over with a little leer, inhaling the scent of rut. Then he cut her bonds.  
”Fine. Scram.”  
  
He followed the woman back into the alehouse. She seemed reluctant to go back in for some reason and clutched her torn blouse tightly together across her chest. A round of applause greeted their entrance and Graznikh jumped in surprise, immediately shooting a 'what the fuck did I tell you'-look at Kraash, who shook his head. The barkeep looked at the woman, then at Graznikh, then back at her.  
”Your daughter?” Graznikh asked.  
”No!” the man said indignantly before slamming the door to the kitchen shut. As Graznikh joined his band back at the table, an angry voice rose from within followed by the woman's pleading. Soon the sound of a very rough fuck was heard and a few of the patrons cheered.  
”Sounds like she's gettin' it good,” Kraash murmured and gave the kitchen door a hungry glance. ”Too bad it isn't me who's givin' it. Dunno what you're so bloody upset about. T'was gonna happen anyway, right?”  
”I got some things to go on,” Graznikh whispered to Sulmurz.  
”Well it ain't your third leg this time, izzit?” Sulmurz replied with a wink of approval. Graznikh finally understood what everyone was so enthusiastic about. _As if I'd ever willingly fuck a roundear-female. Skai..._  
Shortly after, the door to the kitchen opened and the barkeep came out, dragging the crying woman by the hair.  
”If you want to whore for Orcs, you may as well do it outside! Get out! There are women who would be deeply thankful to cook here! I have no use for sluts.” With that, he threw her out. He shot the Orcs an angry look but said nothing more as he returned to his post behind the bar.  
”Does that mean she's free game now?” Kraash murmured. ”I mean, if she's gonna whore for Orcs now, might as well do it for the best, right?”  
”Oh no, you don't.” Ghakû grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down as he began to rise.  
For some reason, Graznikh found that the situation did not sit well with him. _If Kraash hadn't been such an idiot, none of this woulda happened. I can't save the fucking world! Better to just let it go; this shit happens all the time._ But the woman's renewed screams from outside kept haunting him and when Akûl howled he shot up with a loud curse.  
”As if I ever wanted to just sit down for a fuckin' drink! Sulmurz, you're with me. Ghakû, for fuck's sake; if that bastard moves from this table, knock him out!”  
”Will do, chief,” Ghakû chuckled, still holding the struggling Kraash in place.  
Graznikh stomped out and walked over to Akûl. The warg was growling quietly into a backalley from whence the woman could be heard pleading and screaming among harsh laughter and loud grunts.  
  
”Like Orcs, do ya?” the man who was currently raping her grunted in her ear. ”Then this should feel like fuckin' a breeze, right?”  
”Ya might be a breeze,” Graznikh growled as he stepped into the alley, knives drawn. ”But a breeze is no fuckin' match for an avalanche!”  
The men were unarmed save for a few shivs and were no match for two fully armed Orcs and a warg. The ensuing fight was a carnage that ended far too soon with seven dead Men, a shocked woman, two grinning Orcs and a warg happily wagging its tail as it dug into one of the carcasses. Graznikh couldn't keep from licking the blood off his knives with a satisfied groan before cleaning and sheathing them.  
Sulmurz squatted beside the woman with a grin. Her clothes were now completely torn and beyond repair after the men had cut them up. ”Hey there.”  
She did not reply or react; she was staring at the cliudy night sky with glassy eyes. Sulmurz frowned. ”Is he dead?”  
”Nar, just shocked. Happens at times with tarks when ya fuck 'em a little too hard, but they snap outta it.” He squatted next to her opposite Sulmurz and grabbed her tits. She immediately sprung to life and began crying and kicking. Graznikh caught her wrists.  
”Hey. Hey!” She stopped moving and stared at him.  
”Looks like she's seen an Orc,” Sulmurz snickered.  
”Shut up,” Graznikh told him before turning back to the woman. ”How're ya doin'? Can you stand?” Without waiting for a reply, he stood and pulled her up with him. The moment he let her go, she started crying with renewed strength and threw her arms around his neck.  
”Aww, that's so sweet!” Sulmurz cooed. ”She's in love with ya!”  
”Will you shut the _fuck up?_ I'm tryin' to calm her down, not agitate her even more!” He glanced down at the weeping woman and let out a frustrated sigh. Akûl pricked his ears towards the entrance to the alley and soon they were joined by Kraash, Mikbork and Ghakû.  
”Things were getting a little heated,” Ghakû reported. ”Thought we might get out afore there were casualties.”  
”Fine. Let's head out before the trouble follows us.”  
  
After Graznikh had given his shirt to the woman as replacement for her torn clothes, they headed for the temple. Sulmurz was carrying her; she wasn't fit to walk after having been raped thrice. Kraash had offered to do it at first, but Graznikh had shot him down hard.  
”If you try to grope her-” Graznikh had said before getting interrupted.  
”Yeah, yeah, you'll cut off my hand or something equally annoying,” Sulmurz had replied. ”I know the deal.”  
The monastery was dark save for a torch at the gate. The monk that stood guard was blinded by it and didn't see the bloody Orcs and warg until they were right next to him. Once he did, he let out a loud cry and began ringing a bell, at which Ghakû and Kraash pounced him.  
”Oh, for the everloving fuck's sake in a fuckin' cake,” Graznikh groaned. ”Will you guys at least wait for my fuckin' order before you start the charge? These are not enemies!”  
”Just takin' precautions,” Ghakû replied with a shrug and let the shaken monk go.  
”Sorry 'bout that,” Graznikh growled to the monk. ”These idiots don't know when to stop. Look, d'ya have a healer or some such? Got a little lady here what might need some care.”  
”Care for this while you're at it,” Kraash said and gave his package a tug. At hearing that, Graznikh finally lost his temper and pummelled him into the ground with his fists in front of the poor monk's feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chastity belts – Nope, this is just Graznikh making stuff up.
> 
> Lugburz/Mordor Special Mission Flying Corps – The inspiration for this comes from an emblem that Tolkien designed, but never described the use for other than the name. Since there are no descriptions of any airborne force in Mordor other than the Third Age Nazgûl (and they never used this emblem) and possibly Dragons in the lore, and because of suggestions that the whole thing might've been professor Tolkien trolling his own work, I decided to tweak things a little. Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor and Lord of the Butterflies.


	8. On The trail Of Ghosts

The uzhâk's entrance into the settlement was rather impressive, if Margzat had been allowed to say so himself. Even though the Uruks marched in formation they _prowled_ , a pack on the hunt, ever on guard and ready to spring into full-scale carnage the very moment he or the High Officer gave the word. Praktash walked on Záhovar's right side in the center of the uzhâk, acting as her bodyguard and servant while Graznikh was gone. He had been given an earful of advice and pointers, all forgotten the moment his buddy disappeared out of sight.  
Praktash was a little apprehensive about being alone with Záhovar. They had barely spoken at all since Ruzh Moraut and not much before that either. So far, there hadn't been much for him to do on the journey other than the occasional chafe or splinter, but he suspected that that would soon change.  
  
The trade stop looked completely deserted.  
”Where is everyone?” Praktash whispered.  
”Hiding,” Záhovar replied. ”They know that their leaders have failed our Master and they fear the repercussions.”  
”So hidin' in highly flammable buildings seemed the right thing to do to solve that?”  
”No,” Záhovar smirked. ”But since when has fear ever been a conduit for intelligent thought?”  
Praktash wasn't sure if he dared to smile. ”Was that a joke?”  
”That depends on whether you are capable of intelligent thought or not.” She glanced up at him and now the corners of her mouth twitched. Praktash dropped his serious mask.  
”Lookin' forward to this, aren'tcha?”  
She nodded briefly. ”And do you not? We have been idle for far too long.”  
”Yeah,” he agreed. ”Time to get the action started!”  
  
In the center of the settlement was something that could pass for a town square, covered with slippery grey mud. Five men with important expressions stood in wait. Záhovar suspected that they were the members of the settlement's 'assembly', or what passed for a town council. The uzhâk stopped in front of them at Margzat's command and separated to give Záhovar room to pass. As one, the 'important' Men bowed deeply.  
”Our most reverent greetings, High Officer,” one of them said. ”And our deepest apologies; had we known that you were coming, we would have arranged for a proper greeting as is befitting one of your elevated station.”  
”I have little interest in celebrations,” Záhovar answered coolly. ”I live only to serve the Dark Lord, as do all. I have come here in response to the attacks upon caravans bringing tribute and taxes intended for Lugburz, and your continuous failure to protect them.”  
The men seemed to shrink as her eyes flickered with anger. ”Is there one, but one, of you who dare stand before me and explain this?”  
The men glanced at each other, but no one dared to speak up.  
”Very well,” Záhovar said with a little smile. ”Let us do this another way.” She nodded at Margzat who nodded to the Uruks in turn. Five of them fell upon the settlement leaders, who were too shocked to run or even protest before they were caught.  
”Since you will not speak in public,” she continued once they were all securely held, ”you will do so in private. Should your stories differ, I shall be forced to become creative. Those of you who choose to tell me the truth should know that the Great Eye is watching and that your compliance will not go unrewarded. Until then, you will be given some time to think your future over, alone.”  
  
As the protesting settlement leaders were taken away, Záhovar turned to the crowd. ”If there is anyone else who wishes to aid me in this endeavour, in words or actions, they are welcome. I shall be in-”  
”You want to know where your rebels are?!” an angry voice called from behind. The Uruks turned with a growl as a man walked closer with confident steps. He wore simple clothing, but something in his gait told Záhovar that he knew how to handle the short sword that hung at his waist.  
”They are at the Temple of the God-King!” the man continued, gesturing as he spoke. ”They came through here last night, wearing the garb and armour of the soldiers of the Black Tower itself, flinging tokens around as if they were made by them. Tokens they had no doubt stolen from the poor traders they had previously slaughtered. They claimed to come in peace, but no sooner had they entered before they broke that peace! They took a woman hostage, raped her repeatedly in the middle of town and killed the men who came to her aid! Now they have attacked the Temple and taken the priests hostage as well, if they even live still. We are but simple folk, my Lord, we want nothing but to live our lives in peace under the Watchful Eye! The dead did not deserve this fate!”  
_He is overdoing it,_ Záhovar thought. _Did he think that his theatrics would fool me?_  
”And who are you to interrupt me?”  
”My name is Angrenoc, my Lord.”  
”Angrenoc... Follow me.”

  
Graznikh stretched until his back cracked. ”Skai, this floor's hard.”  
”Tell me about it,” Sulmurz grumbled as he rubbed his aching hip. ”The fuck's wrong with these people? I thought lord Záhovar paid for this place?”  
”Probably saved the thickest, softest mattresses for themselves.”  
After hours of explanations, denials, misunderstandings and pointless violence, things had finally calmed down enough for the Orcs to get some sleep. The priests had eventually let them off the hook when Graznikh had mentioned the Lion's name and described him in great detail. The 'Servants of the God-King' had still refused to let them sleep in the monastery's dormitory, confining them instead to a shack for gardening tools that was emptied for their use.  
”So much for 'True Children of Darkness',” Graznikh groaned. ”I'm gonna tell Lion a thing or two if I ever meet him again.”  
Although there was much room for improvement when it came to sleeping quarters, the temple grounds turned out to be somewhat of a change from the regular view. Despite most of Khand being more or less a desert, the little world inside the monastery's walls was more akin to a well-tended jungle. Broad-leafed trees grew in the black soil and sheltered from the scorching sun and little springs provided water that was cool and clean. The monastery itself was built from dull, black stone with giant depictions of the Great Eye set into the walls in red. It looked misplaced in the lush vegetation.  
The monks had provided them with some food, but most of it was plant-based and tasteless. Graznikh forced it down anyway and went to check on the injured. Kraash alone had been let into the temple due to his recently inflicted injuries, but had been securely locked up at Graznikh's request to prevent him from causing or receiving more of them.

It did not take long to find the man that served as high priest; he stood in the temple's hall of worship and seemed to be waiting for him. Torunn had apparently been a mounted warrior of some sort far out East, but had lost the will to fight when the tarks had besieged and burned his hometown and slaughtered his entire family. Instead he had joined the Temple and chosen to live out the rest of his life in the monastery. Now he wore the same blindfold as the rest and had a stitchmark tattoo around his lips. Graznikh couldn't really understand his choice, but he had given them shelter so he wasn't going to bother him about it.  
”Hey,” he greeted the high priest, who inclined his head in return. ”How're they doing?”  
”Better than they were,” Torunn replied. ”Anyara has asked for you.”  
”Who?”  
”The woman you rescued.”  
Graznikh scowled a little at the accusation. ”I didn't 'rescue' anyone. If we hadn't been there, that shit wouldn'ta happened in the first place.”  
”You acted selflessly and risked your life to defend an innocent, both from strangers and your own companions. That does sound like 'rescuing' to me. As for your guilt, she has told me that the barkeep abused her for years. She had nowhere else to go so she stayed despite the assaults and constant fear for her life. She has given birth to three children during her stay there, all of which have been killed. I suppose your appearance and the assumptions made were simply the last drop to an already overflowing jar.”  
”What the fuck is wrong with tarks?” Graznikh asked. _Guilt? I don't feel no bloody 'guilt'!_ ”And shara for that matter. You keep acting and speaking like you're better'n us Orcs, like we're beasts to be put down, but you're no better yourselves. Whenever ya get the chance, you do your best to imitate us and still ya get it all wrong.”  
Torunn swallowed hard and nodded. ”There is... truth in that.”  
Graznikh took his moment of silence as a chance to look around. The main focus of the hall was an altar that was little more than an uncut stone from the Burning Mountain with a flattened surface at the top and the large symbol of the Great Eye set into the wall. From the outside it had looked dull, but from inside Graznikh could see that it was made out of a rare form of red obsidian and that the daylight made it flicker in a frightfully lifelike way. The surrounding wall was black and adorned with intricate carvings. It took him a while to recognise them as Maushur runes, written in a way that made it hard for him to decipher them. He could only make out one line clearly, written beneath the Eye symbol.  
”'The world is a lie,'” he read. ”What's that mean?”  
Torunn looked up. ”It is the main tenet of the Temple of the God-King, and of many other cults under the Shadow. The words are His own, or so the saying goes. The very first, as He entered this world. ”'The world is a lie, a mirage in the sand created by the winds of insanity. We should not resist the end to come but usher it in, for it will release us from this lie in which we linger.'”  
”Sure feels bloody real to me,” Graznikh muttered.  
”As do all lies to those who believe them.”  
”So if everything's fake, then what's real?”  
Torunn smiled. ”Come.”  
  
He led Graznikh out through the temple door and stopped on the precipice. The garden spread out on both side of the paved way leading to the outer gate, all lush green and flowers and birdsong. Torunn took the rusted pendant around his neck in one hand and waved the other as if brushing aside a curtain. Graznikh stared as the garden seemed to die before his eyes. Leaves rotted and melted off withering branches. Bark turned brittle and cracked. Flowers faded and fell to the ground and the earth itself turned to broken, ash-caked mud riddled with the decaying remnants of war. Bushes crumbled and revealed corpses, bloated and impaled on their once green branches. Birdsong turned into the cawing and screeching of scavengers as they fought over the carcasses, and the air filled with the stench of blood, decay and corruption. Torunn let him watch the scenery for a short while before waving his hand again. The garden regrew as quickly as it had died and soon the air filled with birdsong and the scents of life and damp soil again.  
”So which one's the illusion?” Graznikh asked.  
”The answer to that can only be found within yourself,” Torunn replied with a cryptic smile before he turned and walked back into the temple. _Shoulda known,_ Graznikh thought as he grinned. _Bloody riddles._ Then he frowned and threw one last glance at the garden. The answer was suddenly clear.  
”Both are,” he murmured. The high priest stopped short and gave him an incredulous look.  
”Both're illusions,” Graznikh said a little louder with a lopsided grin. ”It's right there on the wall, isn't it? 'The world is a lie'.”  
Torunn suddenly seemed to see him with new eyes. ”In the blink of an eye, you found the answer to a question that I struggled with for many years. Perhaps... I misjudged your kind.”  
”Nar, not really,” Graznikh replied. ”Most Orcs wouldn't care to answer that kinda question. There's no point to it.”  
Torunn frowned. ”But-”  
”Look; ya don't need to study philosophy to bloody fill your belly, an' that's what most snaga ever care 'bout. Disagreements tend to get bloody, so most try not to do it unless they're annoying little pricks. An' if ya ask too many questions in Lugburz, someone's bound to find ya an annoying little prick yourself an have ya wake up one day with a dagger in your back. We don't need to 'believe' in anything, 'cause it doesn't make life any easier. Maybe it's different for you roundears, but to us Orcs it's just another lie.”  
Torunn opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again with a deep frown. He remained silent as they returned back inside and absently bid Graznikh farewell, deep in thought.  
  
The woman – Anyara – had been dressed in a simple linen robe and was waiting by the window in one of the monks' cells when Graznikh entered the dormitory.  
”I never had the chance to thank you,” she began but Graznikh interrupted her.  
”Could we do without the 'pleases' and 'thank-yous'? I don't need any of that. I know why ya do it; it's some kinda Man-thing about honour and gratitude, but it doesn't mean shit to me.”  
Anyara pursed her lips. ”Very well. If you think yourself above simple gratitude.”  
Graznikh chuckled softly. ”Expectin' courtesy from an Orc, are ya?”  
”If you didn't do this from compassion, then why? You could have left me. You could have laughed with the others, or participated.”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Don't really fancy fuckin' your kind an' I was in a foul mood already before we got there. T'was as good an excuse as any to get some killing done and vent a little.”  
”Then I suppose I should be grateful for your foul mood,” Anyara said.  
Graznikh laughed. ”I wish more folks thought that way.”  
”Wait!” Anyara said as he turned to leave. Graznikh glanced back over his shoulder.  
”What?”  
”I've thought more of what you asked. I have not been entirely honest with you. Angrenoc is... The barkeep. That is Angrenoc.”  
Graznikh slowly turned and walked towards her until he had her cornered.  
”Please,” she gasped as he used his chest to push her up against the wall.  
”An' why didn't ya say so from the start?” he growled in her ear. ”Coulda saved us both a world o' trouble.”  
”I didn't...” She swallowed and gasped for air. ”I was afraid of him, of what he would do if he found out.”  
”So you're more afraid of a skinny barkeep than a band of Orcs? You need to get your priorities straight.” He could hear her breath hitch a little as he ran a claw behind her ear and down her neck. ”Now is there anythin' else ya might've overlooked or forgotten to tell me? Anythin' at all..?”  
He flinched a little as her fist hit his chin. Because of the awkward angle, it felt more like a caress than a real punch but he did manage to bite his tongue. Graznikh chuckled and spat some blood at the wall beside her head.  
”What is it with women an' my face? Look, if you're this eager to be an Orc-whore for real you should go do this shit to Kraash. He'd give it all right back at ya and then some.”  
”Let me go,” Anyara growled. Graznikh purred and rubbed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply before he stepped back.  
”Ya sure I shouldn't send Kraash in here? Despite the state I put him in last night, I'm sure he'd be happy to fuck those other guys right outta your head if you but ask him.” Then he scowled. ”Come to think of it, he'll probably do that anyway if he ever catches ya alone again. So this Angrenoc is your barkeep? Same guy?”  
Anyara nodded as she adjusted her robe, visibly shaken. ”The rest I've said is true. He does have an unusual amount of money with no way of getting it the honest way. The alehouse is not visited often enough to warrant it.”  
”An' do ya like him? D'ya... 'love' him or whatever ya call it?”  
”No!” she snapped. ”I hate him.”  
”Good,” Graznikh purred. ”Hold on to that hate, let it fester, make ya stronger. Here's a piece o' Orcish wisdom for ya; ya wanna get somewhere in this world, you learn to fight. An' the going gets easier with a bit o' ruthlessness to accompany it.” He nodded as she lifted her chin with a defiant scowl. ”Good gal. Man or woman, doesn't matter. There's always a fight to win or lose. By the way, you're pregnant.”  
She frowned. ”How would you know?”  
Graznikh patted his nose with a finger. ”Keen scent. You were in heat when first I sniffed ya out, but it's gone now. Could be it ended early, but with all the cock you've had lately I doubt that's the case.” He watched as she sank to the ground and began to sob. ”Don't wanna breed?”  
”Not like this...”  
Graznikh cocked his head. ”Y'know, I got a buddy who might be able to help ya there. He's a drugdealer and worked in the breeding pits for a while, so he's qualified. Could send him your way, if you're interested.” Anyara did not answer, so he left.  
  
Kraash seemed to be in a good mood despite his broken nose and cheekbone, so Graznikh helped move him to the garden shack before taking a stroll to try to clear his head and figure out what to do next. There were numerous fruit and nut trees on the temple grounds, as well as berry bushes of various size. Some he recognised from the High Officers' plates in Lugburz, others were unfamiliar and he sampled them as he went. Most of them were too sweet for his taste, but one kind of large yellow berry was less sweet and more mealy in taste and texture. He was busy stuffing his mouth with them when he caught a movement near the outer wall. Mikbork's yellow eyes peered at him from the shadows as the snuffler jumped down from the wall.  
”Hey snuffler. Whaddya doin' up there?”  
”Top One's arrived,” the goblin said quietly.  
”You went back down there? Why?”  
Mikbork gave him an extremely uncharasteristic glare. ”'Cause I'm a _snuffler._ 'S what I do, sniff things out, see what's up.”  
”Right,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”With all the shit that's happened, I forgot that we've got someone who actually knows how to get shit done.”  
”'S okay,” Mikbork grinned. ”'At's why I went anyway. Got some news too.”  
”Let's go back to the shack, let the others hear 'em too.”  
”So let me get this straight,” Graznikh said later. ”Lord Záhovar comes in, locks the town leaders up, then this Angrenoc fellow pops up and claims that _we_ fucked that woman and that the dead guys tried to rescue her?” He burst into laughter when Mikbork nodded.  
”That fuckin' bastard,” Kraash growled. ”I'mma kill him!”  
Graznikh stopped laughing. ”If you hadn't been an idiot an' tried fucking her in the first place, none of that shit woulda happened! Now they think we're responsible for the caravan attacks too, an' Záhovar probably thinks I've gone crazy!”  
”Well, we _coulda_ been, couldn't we?” Kraash replied.  
Sulmurz stared at him as if he had turned into a chicken in front of his eyes. ”Unless you've forgotten,” he began slowly, ”we're here to find an' _stop_ those! Not _join_ them, ya daft fuck!!”  
”Why not?” Everyone fell silent and turned to stare at Mikbork. The goblin gave them all a charming grin and kept picking crumbs from the discarded plates.  
Graznikh began to laugh again. ”Of _course!_ 'At's bloody genius!”  
Ghakû agreed with a wicked little smile.  
”What's genius?” Kraash said with a confused frown.  
”Your nose,” the snuffler replied from a safe distance.  
”From now on, we're deserters,” Graznikh whispered. ”We'll try to locate the rebels an' join their ranks. Strength in numbers'n all that. If they're tarks or sent by the tarks, this'll be bloody dangerous 'cause those bastards kill Orcs on sight. If they're not, they might still try to kill us but the risk's not as great.”  
”But what if they try to snitch on us, or take all the loot?” Kraash asked. ”I say we do it on our own instead. More loot for us, right?”  
Graznikh gave Sulmurz an accusing glance. ”Do tell me why you thought bringin' that one along was a good idea.”  
”'Cause o' the Axe Effect,” Ghakû chuckled.  
”Is that when you wanna slam an axe in his face after talkin' to him for more than five breaths?”  
”Got it from the start, I see.”  
Graznikh buried his face in his hands with a low howl, and Sulmurz wasn't sure if the temporary band leader was laughing or crying.  
  
  
”This shit's gonna take a while, won't it?” Praktash asked. He sat upon the desk behind which Záhovar sat with her head in her hands. One of the least rundown houses had been cleared out to acommodate her and the uzhâk, forcing the family that lived there to find other shelter. Záhovar had commanded that they be given housing in the alehouse at the settlement leaders' expense instead, since they were the ones responsible for their temporary eviction. This decision had not gone over well, but no one had dared to openly speak out against it.  
”I fear that it will.” One by one, she had spoken to the assembly members. Each and every one gave a different account of the events of the past years. Either it was the doings of the Númenorean army, or its agents, or tribal warriors from the South, or rogue Orcs. One even claimed that it was a group of Elves. His 'evidence' was an arrow with an oddly formed head that proved nothing.  
”I'd guess they're all lyin',” he said while trying to balance his pen on a finger. He had been putting the result from the interrogations to print to help keep track of what had been said, in case someone's story changed or new info came in. Now there was a messy pile of parchments on the desk. ”They're all in on it, an' they had this prepared for a long time comin'.”  
”Without a doubt.” Záhovar looked up. ”What do you think of this Angrenoc?”  
”No idea,” Praktash replied with a frown. ”He seems so bloody honest that he has to be a hole-in-corner sort. But I really dunno. Could be he really is just an honest guy.” He cursed as he dropped the pen. ”I had no idea this shit would be so complicated! I wish Graznikh was here, he'd know what to do.”  
Záhovar gave him an exasperated look. ”Would he now?”  
Praktash began to chuckle as he retrieved the pen. ”Nar, not really. Graz, ya sonova bitch! He really went wild here, didn't he?”  
”I do hope he has a good explanation for all of this,” Záhovar muttered as she reread Angrenoc's account. ”Why in the Void would they pee in the ale barrels?”  
Praktash laughed out loud. ”We dunno if it's true yet!”  
”Perhaps I should serve a cup from each barrel to the assembly next time I call on them and see if they notice a difference,” Záhovar said with a smirk.  
”Uruk approval on that one,” Praktash snickered.  
”Somehow I doubt that krîtar Margzat would agree.”  
”Oh, he'll come around. I'll convince him of your brilliance with a good suck.”  
Záhovar cleared her throat. ”You cannot solve everything by fucking it.”  
”Nar, sometimes it's better not to give a fuck.” He began to snicker even harder at seeing Záhovar's blank stare. She tried to change the subject and looked at the parchment again.  
”Your handwriting has improved.”  
”Yeah, I've practised.”  
”When?”  
”At the campfire. Pieces of coal on rocks.”  
”Is it wrong of me to assume that you've left obscene messages for other travelers along our entire route?”  
Praktash's wide smile was all the answer Záhovar needed and she let out a resigned chuckle. ”You are hopeless.” She sighed as she looked at the parchment-riddled table. ”Somewhere in here lies the truth,” she whispered to herself. ”Somewhere among all these differing reports is a red thread that can be followed. But which, and where?”  
  
A knock on the door made them both look up. Margzat stuck his head in after Záhovar called for him to enter.  
”There's another shara outside, wantin' to see ya.”  
”Send them in,” Záhovar replied. Soon, a man in stern traveller's garb and funny-looking shoes entered. Around his neck hung a rusty iron chain with the symbol of the Eye, marking him as a follower of the God-King. He went down on bended knee just inside the door.  
”Greetings, my Lord Officer. I apologise for not arriving sooner; the road is dangerous these days and I dared not risk walking into another ambush. My name is Ameqran Itri and I am a caravan master; one of those responsible for organising the supply lines and trade between Lugburz and the realms to the South. I am also one of those who have suffered the greatest losses to these accursed rebels. I am at your service, my Lord Officer; no one prays more vehemently for your success than I.”  
”Thank you for coming here, Ameqran Itri. Have a seat; I wish to hear about your losses and the attacks in greater detail.”  
”Please; call me Ameqran.” They walked into an adjacent room where Praktash was busy pouring drinks and placing fruits on a tray. Itri stopped short as he spotted the tattooed Uruk. Praktash had wiped the dust and grime off his armour and washed himself a little so that he would not knock people to the ground with the stench. Now he ran his fingers through his still damp hair and gave the man a charming smile.  
”Do not worry,” Záhovar said as she noticed Ameqran's hesitation. ”For all his peculiar behaviour, Praktash is no danger as long as I am near.”  
”I see,” Ameqran said. ”And you trust... him?”  
Záhovar frowned a little, but nodded. _Trust?_ Ameqran seemed calmed by the nod and sank down into an armchair.  
”The attacks began further west, close to the South Road. That is why we suspect the Númenoreans to be behind them. But lately there have been attacks not only along the South and Harnen roads, but also in Khand proper. They hit in broad daylight, burn the wagons and leave no survivors. The goods are simply destroyed, not stolen, so they cannot be mere brigands.”  
”Should I fetch a map?” Praktash asked, and did so when Záhovar nodded. He returned with a leather sheet upon which a map of Khand and its surroundings had been etched. He drew on the leather as the caravan master spoke.  
”So they've hit here... and here? Right.” He added seven little crosses where the caravan master pointed. Záhovar's eyes narrowed as she studied the map, and Praktash could understand her. _Seven hits in a single moon's turn. And they've been goin' at it for years. Skai..._  
”They are very well organised,” Ameqran told Záhovar. ”There are a lot of bounty hunters in the area, but no one has been able to find their camp. Or _camps_ ; there must be more than one. And with the road patrols interrupted, I fear the trade will drain completely if nothing is done to protect the caravans. Simple honour guards are not enough to deter these people.”  
”That is why I am here,” Záhovar assured him. ”I will need a few of your wagons and people to set up a trap.”  
The caravan master gave her a horrified look. ”My wagons...”  
”Whatever damage they receive will be repaired or recompensed. As will any potential loss of staff.”  
”Pah!” Ameqran said with a dismissive gesture. ”Slaves are cheaper than wagons; it is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make, in service to the Lord of the Earth.”  
”Your compliance is much appreciated,” Záhovar said.

Once the caravan master had left, Margzat sent in the next guest, one that Záhovar recognised immediately. ”Greetings, Torunn. Has the occupation of your monastery ended?”  
”Not yet,” Torunn said after bowing.  
”And have you an account of recent events?”  
”I do, from the leader of those involved.” The high priest placed a sealed scrollcase and placed it on the desk. Záhovar opened it and read the scroll. Then she handed it to Praktash, who read it as well. When he returned it she threw it into the fireplace. She took the pen from him and wrote a small note which she placed in the scrollcase before sealing it and handing it back to Torunn. It disappeared into the wide sleeve of his robe.  
”Looks like they've got somethin',” Praktash whispered after the priest had left. Záhovar nodded with a smile.

  
”Hey.” Anyara looked up from her dinner plate as Graznikh entered. He stopped by the door. ”Busy eatin'? I can come back later, if-”  
”No, it's alright. I was almost done.”  
”...Right.” He looked around a little, searching for the right words. ”So... How ya feeling 'bout goin' back to town?”  
She looked down. ”I don't know. I've nothing left there now.”  
”No friends or something like that?”  
”Well... A few. They might take me in for a while if I ask, but... I'm afraid of what Angrenoc will do.”  
Graznikh chuckled a little. ”If half the news I've heard're true, he's got far more important things to worry 'bout now.”  
”What do you mean?”  
”Well, he's got a High Officer hot on his tail.”  
Anyara paled. ”How..?”  
”It's my master. I got sent ahead along with this lot to investigate the raids. Now your Angrenoc's been spreadin' the word that we were the ones who fucked ya an' that the guys me and Sulmurz killed tried to save ya from us. Now we're thinkin' of cashing in on that a little, but it'd put you in a difficult spot.”  
”Why is that?” she asked.  
”Well, you'd have to play the role of 'Orc whore'.” Graznikh chuckled at her horrified expression. ”Nar, no fuckin' ya, not for real. All you need to do is confirm the rumours. Play pretend. Let 'em think we've gone rogue.”  
Anyara hugged her belly. ”If people think I'm carrying a... A half-Orc child...”  
”What, they'd throw ya out?”  
Graznikh grinned a little as she nodded. ”Seriously? Back where I come from the Dunlendings didn't seem to care. There were one or two in every other village. Anyway, that's where my buddy comes in. My master'll be comin' here sooner or later; I'll ask for him to come too. He can check on ya, if ya wanna.”  
”What do you mean, 'check on'?”  
”Well, the pregnancy's more or less confirmed. But he might know a way to end it without hurtin' ya, kill the litter inside so ya don't have to carry it to term.”  
Anyara looked disturbed but nodded in understanding. ”This 'buddy' of yours... He is an Orc as well?”  
”Nar, Uruk. Don'tcha worry,” he said when her eyes widened at hearing the dreaded word. ”He may look like a creepy, evil bastard but he's really the tamest of us all. An' he prefers to fuck guys, so you've got nothing to worry 'bout. Too bad, really; he's a real sweet fuck. Big cock too, _real_ nice. But it's all arse for him, so...”  
”Please, don't... Don't say anymore.”  
”You okay? Ya look a little faint.” Graznikh couldn't keep the grin off his face. He just couldn't understand the squeamishness over fucking the same sex that so many Men had, and he couldn't resist teasing her a little. Sulmurz had that too, which was even weirder since he was an Orc. ”So whaddya say? Ya don't hafta shout it from the rooftops, just look sick and tell people you don't wanna talk about it. That should be the same as a 'yes' for most. Oh, an' don't worry about Angrenoc. He'll get what's comin' for him once my master gets her hands on him.”  
Anyara looked up with a puzzled expression. ”Her?”  
But Graznikh had already left.  
  
Graznikh's little band pretended to leave the monastery the next night and moved up into the mountains northeast of the settlement. But Graznikh kept sneaking back to keep in touch with Záhovar through the high priest, who had agreed to carry their messages. He and Mikbork kept stalking Angrenoc to catch the moment he eventually snuck out on his suspicious nightly adventures. He turned out to be leaving messages in a hollow rock and bring money back in return. Graznikh decided to leave the messages alone for the time being and wait for the one who retrieved them. That turned out to be another of the townsfolk, who brought the message to the home of one of the assembly members that same night. In the darkness, the man never noticed that he was shadowed by two Orcs and the very moment he placed the little scrollcase on the windowsill of the assembly member's bedroom, two Uruks just _happened_ to come by and took him in. Soon he found himself bound in the cellar of the High Officer's house.  
Záhovar opened the scrollcase in the study on the second floor and read the message hidden within. After a while she handed it to Margzat. ”What do you make of this?”  
He took it and frowned. ”I dunno how to read.”  
”It doesn't matter. Even you can read this.”  
Margzat and Praktash stared at the 'message'. ”There's nothin' here. Paper's empty.”  
”It would seem that we have been deceived,” Záhovar said. ”The real message ended up somewhere else. Either the man in the cellar exchanged them, or Angrenoc dropped it off somewhere else along the way. The hollow rock was a clever ruse to dicover whether we were watching his actions.”  
”An' we walked right into the trap,” Margzat growled. ”Bloody unreliable snaga.”  
”It's not their fault,” Praktash said. ”These bastards're simply smarter than we gave 'em credit for.”  
”By now they have no doubt learned what they wanted from us. I doubt that this man knows anything; he is probably just a messenger. We would gain nothing from torturing him.”  
”Can't we just bring Angrenoc in?” Praktash asked. ”He's the one who knows stuff.”  
”We've got no proof,” Margzat said.  
”Well, screw 'proof'! Záhovar, you're a Top One, ya don't need proof of anythin'! Ya wanna bring that guy in for sneezin' the wrong way, you can do it. No one here'd dare go against ten Uruks anyway, that's a safe bet!”  
”Nine,” Margzat said with a dangerous grin.  
Praktash frowned. ”Nar, ten.”  
”Nine. Ye're no Uruk, Bukrazikh.”  
”Fuck off, half-troll!”  
”Focus,” Záhovar said mildly. ”Praktash, are you suggesting that I take Angrenoc in and torture the information out of him?”  
”Yeah, unless he's bolted for the hills already. I mean, you're the voice an' fist of the Eye right here an' now, aren't ya? An' He didn't give ya any detailed info on how to deal with this, right?”  
Margzat bristled at this nearly blasphemous meddling in the High Officer's affairs, but Záhovar shook her head with a thoughtful expression. ”No, as long as we complete the task we have more or less free hands. Making an enemy city turn itself over is of course preferable to turning it to dust and slaughtering every last living thing within, but if the alternative is leaving it standing in enemy hands, even complete destruction is preferable.” She looked up. ”Very well. Krîtar, find the snuffler and tell him to follow the man in the cellar when you release him, just in case. Then find Angrenoc and bring him in.”  
Margzat nodded and left. Záhovar noticed that Praktash was writing something on the previously empty note. ”What are you doing?”  
”Messin' with his head,” Praktash replied with a big grin. ”An' don't worry, I got all the stuff needed to make it believable. Show this to him once he's in. Let's see how he talks his way outta this one! ”  
  
Ghakû had first watch when Mikbork suddenly appeared in camp.  
”Got it,” the snuffler told the still half-asleep Graznikh after poking him.  
”Got what?”  
”Location o' the camp. 'S a small one, an' I think they're packin' up.”  
”Any Orcs?”  
”Nar, not a one. I think some of 'em were tarks. Smelled that way.”  
”Skai... How many an' how far?”  
”Both my hands'n then some. Two ridges off. That way,” Mikbork said and pointed westward.  
”Did ya follow the messenger like the Top One asked?”  
”Yeah, he ran home. Didn't go out again.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Good. Have a seat, there's some meat left by the fire.” Then he nodded to Sulmurz. ”C'mon. Need a word or two.”  
Once they were a safe distance from camp, Graznikh stopped. ”So we've got a decision to make now,” he whispered. ”Either we go over there an' try to join 'em, which sounds like bloody suicide to me if the snuffler's right. Or we simply attack 'em and hope that there's something in camp that can tell us where the next one is.”  
”Or we wait in ambush, catch one of 'em an' beat the info outta him. That might work too, if we catch the right one. Safer too, if they were as many as Mikbork said. An' I've never known that little rat to be one for exaggerating. He knows his stuff.”  
”Right. Ambush it is then.”  
”First fight then,” Sulmurz purred. ”I can already taste the blood!”  
”What about the one back in town?”  
”That? Just a tumble, didn't even break a sweat.”  
”Just you wait 'til we find the main camp. _That'_ ll be a fight! 'Sides, we wanna catch this one alive, remember?”  
”Yeah, the fun starts after, right?”  
The two Orcs shared a bloodthirsty grin before returning to the band and gave the order to move out.  
  
Angrenoc was in the middle of serving drinks at the alehouse when Praktash entered. After talking the Man into following him back to Záhovar's quarters, he turned to the crowd.  
”All booze for free tonight!” he shouted merrily. ”Courtesy of High Officer Záhovar. Have fun!”  
Once Angrenoc was well away from the alehouse, Praktash knocked him over the head. When he was securely bound and locked up in the cellar, Záhovar called Praktash and Margzat up for a discussion on how to proceed.  
”Can you mess with his mind a little?” Praktash asked. ”For real, I mean. Not just the note.”  
”Since when did you become so eager to drive people insane?” Záhovar asked.  
”I just wanna know what it looks like when I'm not on the receivin' end.”  
She smiled a little. ”Do you wish to see the illusions too?”  
”Yeah, but... Can ya make it so I don't believe they're real?”  
”I can try. It is a little harder, but I believe it can be done when there is only one true target. But why do you want this?”  
Praktash hesitated a little before he answered. ”Just thought I'd see this as another trainin' session, but of a different sort. If I see the illusion, know a bit 'bout how it's done, then maybe I won't fall for 'em so easily when I _am_ on the receivin' end.”  
Záhovar smirked. ”Do you intend to become the first Uruk sorcerer, as well as drugdealer?”  
Praktash's eyes widened. ”Nar! Skai, no! I don't wanna _do_ magic, just learn to... well, understand it a little. So I'm not as scared of it. Does that make sense..?” he swallowed a little as Záhovar did not reply. She looked at him for a long while with that impassive, unreadable expression that she so often wore. Then she nodded.  
”Very well. I will see it done. Krîtar, do you wish to stay as well?”  
”If ya need me Lug-durbatar, then sure. It'll be interestin'. An'... I'm not sayin' this 'cause I wanna insult ya by thinkin' I'm in any position to permit ya to do or not do anythin', it's just to put Buk- I mean, Praktash's mind at ease. If ya need me under compulsion for whatever reason, feel free to.”  
Záhovar nodded, but Praktash looked at him as if he had just turned into a giant spider and asked him out for tea. ”Are you completely fuckin' _insane_? You _want_ that shit?!”  
Margzat grinned a little. ”I never saw it as bad, Bukra. Might be 'cause I've never been forced by it. For me, it's always been more of a help an' guidance. Sometimes an Officer wanted me to do somethin' a certain way an' I just couldn't figure out how. So instead o' me doin' it wrong an' failin', they used compulsion to make me get it right from th' start. Since I was still there in my head, it helped me understand what they meant much faster'n could do it on my own later, if need be. Easier than havin' to explain things over'n over.”  
”It is a powerful tool,” Záhovar said. ”And like any powerful tool, it has its uses but can easily be abused. That is why so few even among the High Officers know how to use it. If everyone did and used it freely as a weapon, it could easily destroy us from inside. And if that knowledge ends up in Enemy hands, it would be a disaster on a scale we cannot even fathom.”  
”Thought all Lug-durbatari used it,” Margzat said with a frown. ”Bukrazikh, ya okay?”  
Praktash was hugging himself with a pained scowl and refused to look at anyone or reply. Záhovar briefly placed a hand on his arm before turning towards the door.  
”Let us focus on the task at hand. Come, it is time to meet our would-be rebel.”

Angrenoc had been kept in complete darkness and blinked when the High Officer entered, flanked by Praktash and Margzat with torches.  
”Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly as they put them in sconces on the wall. ”I have done all I can to aid you. I've given-”  
”Angrenoc is a northerner's name, is it not?”  
He nodded. ”Yes.”  
”Where do you come from?”  
”I grew up in a small fishing village in the Great River delta. My grandfather was a travelling merchant and brought some measure of wealth to us. My father chose to give me a Dunlending name in his honour.”  
”Do you recognise this?” She held up the little scrollcase. Angrenoc pretended to study it for a while, then shook his head. ”No, I do not.” Záhovar opened it and took out the message scroll. ”Then I suppose you are not familiar with this either.”  
”I'm afraid I don't know how to read,” he said after his eyes had darted back and forth over the parchment for a moment.  
”This was a message that you were seen delivering to a hollow rock outside of this settlement. You brought money back in return, money that were not Eye Tokens, and the message was picked up by another who brought it to one of your assembly leaders' house.” She read the message aloud. ”HO has come. Third house to the left from AH, bottle lies in straw-filled barrel.” She looked up. ”Drugdealer?”  
Praktash handed her a little clay bottle. ”Poison. No taste, no smell. Common enough; it's made from the distilled sap of a colourful mushroom that grows on bare tree roots in these parts. The 'shroom itself's pretty harmless, unless ya eat a lot of it. Just makes you laugh a lot an' then shit like you're made of it. Distilled, well... One drop in a wine bottle's enough to kill.” There was a ruckus outside. Moments later Golnauk came in, dragging the messenger after him, bound and gagged. Margzat handed Praktash a larger bottle, which he uncorked. He put one drop of the poison in it and handed it to Margzat. Golnauk tore the gag off the man's face and pinched his nose shut while Margzat forced the bottle in between his lips. Eventually, the man could not hold his breath any longer and sealed his own fate by gagging and swallowing some of the poisoned liquid. Golnauk dropped him on the ground and left.  
”A-Angrenoc?” the man gasped. Then he began to laugh. Then he gasped again. His forced laughter became more and more hysterical and forced but his expression was one of panic and pain.  
  
It took almost an entire toll before the messenger was dead, his body cramped up in an unnatural position and his face frozen in a grimace of agony. Silent tears were running down Angrenoc's cheeks and he was staring at Záhovar with such intense hate that Praktash almost thought he would catch fire. From her expression, Záhovar was basking in it.  
”Is it worth it?” she whispered. ”How much death is silence worth?”  
”Kill me if you wish,” Angrenoc hissed. ”I will tell you nothing! Nothing except this; I never wrote that message. Whoever did this set me up. Gaskin died needlessly because you fell for a lie that none of us told!”  
”Kill?” Záhovar smiled. ”I have no intention of killing you.”  
Praktash recoiled and Margzat caught him before he lost his footing. The moment the air grew cold, it felt like icy needles had jabbed into both his eyes. His eyes watered from the pain, but it soon abated. As he looked up, it was as if his eyes had opened upon a world that should not be Seen.  
Záhovar's body darkened and became transparent, but around her shone a bluish-white corona; like a portal into some other plane of existence. The light kept flickering here and there, as if something or many of something were trying to pass through but her body blocked their escape. The rest of the cellar vault was blurry and grey, as if all colour had been washed out of it. Margzat's warm hand landed on the small of his back and he leaned into it for support. He could see not only the illusion but how it was made; little tendrils of Unlight that warped and formed a flickering image that no doubt seemed solid in the physical world.  
”When I was young, I used to have a doll,” Záhovar said quietly. ”I miss that time, and I believe I shall relive it a little. I shall remove every bone in your arms and legs, little by little, leaving you to heal inbetween. I shall bind your soul in the Wraithworld, so that you cannot escape even through death. You should be grateful; how many Men do not seek immortality and would spend anything, _do_ anything, to achieve it? I will give you that undeath without recompense. You will reach immortality of a kind that madmen will tremble to behold.”  
As she spoke, she removed one of the steel sticks that held her hair up. As she took it, the illusion she had woven made it seem like a thin, sharp knife. While speaking of immortality she drew the 'knife' along her palms, seemingly cutting deep gashes along each finger in her hand. Then she put the 'knife' back into her hair and began to pluck the finger bones out, one by one, tossing them into the darkness outside the torches' reach. The illusion warped sound as well; the 'bones' made a audible, dull tinkle as they bounced on the stone floor before vanishing. It was a small illusion aimed at only one person, which made it all the more convincing; Angrenoc was shaking as Záhovar held up her profusely bleeding, distorted hand before his face. ”Will you accept the gift that I offer?”  
”I never wrote that message,” he whispered, his voice trembling. ”I swear the scroll was empty when I left it; a ruse in case I was being followed. The real message was dropped on my way back, near the dead tree just outside of town. I told them that you are here, and also of the Orcs that passed through. I do not know who picked it up; they only paid me to keep an eye on the road and report who came and went. I swear, I know nothing else!”  
  
Záhovar went down on one knee before him. She brushed her wounded hand with the other one and as she did, it miraculously seemed to heal. ”Do you know where your grandfather's wealth came from?”  
Angrenoc frowned. ”He... He was a merchant.”  
”Yes, but not only. Bardoc was a spy in the employ of Lugburz, paid to keep an eye on Númenor's activities in the north. The leader of the Orc band that passed through here was one of his informants, though even he did not know it at the time. Your family's prosperity came from the Eye, and He has been watching you for a very long time.”  
Angrenoc shook his head, but then he deflated. ”He told me... My father always told me... That my grandfather was an honest man. That he... And I _believed_ him!”  
”Your grandfather _was_ an honest man. It was your father who turned traitor. When your grandfather died, peacefully in his bed might I add, our agents contacted your father. But he all but threw them out, believing that Númenor would protect him. He lied to you to lead you astray.”  
”Númenor promised us protection and freedom.”  
”And what freedom have they given you? The freedom of being deemed 'lesser Men'? The freedom of watching your homes clearcut and your children taken away for 'education'? The freedom of more taxes than you can afford to pay? You yourself fled all this to start a new life in what seemed to you a forgotten backwater.”  
Angrenoc stared at the ground.  
”Do you not see?” Záhovar continued in a gentler tone. ”These attacks have harmed you and your business here far more than they have harmed Lugburz. To us, they are a mere annoyance, a fly to be swatted. We have other supply lines, far from Númenor's reach. To your tavern, the caravans make the difference between flourishing success and starvation. You cannot claim that the past years have been good for business, can you? Give us your loyalty and I will personally see to it that the caravans use your establishment and pay you as you deserve.”  
”Númenor has never aided the people on these shores,” Angrenoc said bitterly. ”They come with promises and nothing more.” He looked up. ”But you needn't have killed Gaskin, he knew nothing and died an innocent!”  
”Did he, now? Or did he perhaps hide more than you knew of?”  
Angrenoc frowned, then his eyes widened as it dawned on him. ”He was a spy... Is that what you say?”  
”He duped you,” Záhovar said. ”And many others, I fear. How many innocent lives could have been spared if not for him?”  
Angrenoc nodded grimly. ”What do you need of me?”  
Záhovar gave the order to release him. They left the cellar and instead congregated in the study, where Angrenoc was served refreshments unlike any he had before seen.  
”You will send one last message. A caravan carrying military contraband to arm the anti-Númenor resistance in Umbar will pass through here in a week's time and continue west along the Harnen. They will not travel by ship because of the presence of the Númenorean navy in the delta. You will show me the message before you send it and explain any code that you use. Do not try to deceive me; it would end very badly.”  
”As you command, High Officer.” Angrenoc frowned. ”May I ask you something?”  
”You may.”  
”The Orcs that passed through here... Were they yours as well?”  
”They were not.” Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”I hunt them as well, but for personal reasons. They have something of mine, and I would catch them alive, if possible.”  
”I could mention that in the message as well,” Angrenoc said. ”Tell them to be on the lookout for a rogue Orc band. No doubt they have come here to scavenge in the wake of the attacks.”  
Záhovar seemed to think it over. ”Your idea has merit... Very well; have it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praktash had it right from the start - Záhovar IS a "mind-messin' makatok". And good ol' Bardoc got a bit of solid background, in case anyone wondered whatever happened to him. These chapters keep getting longer and longer...


	9. A Light Behind

The night was young, but the Moon was dark and the stars did not light the craggy foothills enough to reveal any sign of life. The watchpost never noticed the deeper shadows crawling up towards the rock where he sat and no alarm was called when they overwhelmed him.  
Back at camp, the Orcs did not care to be subtle and Graznikh allowed them all to indulge as they tortured the information about the rebels' set-up out of the hated tark. They only muffled his screams as they broke and twisted fingers and toes, crushed knees, pulled nails and hair, dislocated joints, lashed and scorched him with hot blades and boiling water. When he eventually died, Graznikh knew all he wanted.  
”That was fun,” Sulmurz said as he sat down beside him with a fistful of fresh meat. ”What happens now?”  
”This is just a scouting party,” Graznikh said as he scraped dried blood off his claws with a knife. ”We could kill 'em, but if we miss one the main group'll find out about us. We know where they're holed up now, so no point in risking that.”  
”Does this mean we won't join 'em like ya planned?”  
”Plans can change. Have to, when everything else does. And now we know they're tarks or sent by tarks, so nar, we won't. That'd be suicide to try. I'm of a mind to just go out there an' clear 'em out, but we need to get in touch with Záhovar again, see what she plans before we try anything.”  
Sulmurz glanced back towards the camp. ”Kraash's gonna be so pissed.”  
Graznikh leered. ”After the shit he started back in town, he deserves it. Forced me to look like a bloody softie, the bastard.”  
”I don't think anyone o' us thinks ye're that anymore,” Sulmurz chuckled. ”Not after what ya did to Blondie back there.”  
”I've missed doing that,” Graznikh purred. ”Missed all o' this; running with a band, doin' mischief, not having to care 'bout the big stuff. Been too long since last. Can't wait 'til the real fighting starts... I'm of a mind to ask Záhovar to take the reins an' let me berserk a little. Really clears the mind.”  
”I wonder if they've got any women there?” Sulmurz mused. ”Nothing better than a proper fuck while the blood's boilin'.”  
”Y'know what'd be just perfect?” Graznikh asked with a horny grin. Sulmurz shook his head.  
”Záhovar. Naked, smeared with blood and sittin' right here, legs wide open.” He motioned towards his crotch.  
”Oh for fuck's sake..!” Sulmurz groaned. ”Did you _have_ to say that?!”  
”Just pounce her in the middle of the carnage,” Graznikh purred as he leaned back against the rock, determined to draw out the torture a little. ”Throw her down in the blood, tear everything off and just fuck her 'til she screams my name an' begs me for it...”  
”Will ya share?” Sulmurz asked breathlessly, mouth open and drooling a little. ”If you do that, can I have some too?”  
”Sure, I'll hold her down for ya once I'm done. We'll take turns 'til she's red an' black all over, an' it won't be just blood!”  
”She'd fuckin' kill us after, wouldn't she?”  
”I'm not sure. She likes it rough at times.”  
”Yeah, but... _that_ rough?”  
”Well, she let Praktash rape her the first time they met. That should tell ya something.”  
Sulmurz scowled in disgust. ”Don't tell me she fucks that one.”  
Graznikh gave him a quizzical look. ”What's your problem with him anyway?”  
”I just don't like fuckin' guys.”  
”So why don'tcha hate the rest of us? We do it too. You're the only one who cares 'bout it.”  
”'Cause you're not in my face with it! Ya don't rub it in the way he does! An' ya don't keep trying to feel me up every time ya get close.”  
”He wouldn't be like that if ya didn't keep givin' him an arm every time he goes for a finger.”  
”This isn't my fault! Why can't he just lay off it? Can't he just get it in his head that I don't wanna stick it to him or anyone, and I don't want anything stuck to me either!”  
”I _could_ have a chat with him, but I doubt it'd help. Praktash's a horny bastard and I've never known him to pass up a challenge. If it's any consolation, he usually loses interest pretty fast after he's gotten through. I guess me'n Margzat're exceptions to the rule.”  
”Well, I'm not goin' down without a fight,” Sulmurz growled. Then he grinned a little. ”Nor is she, I guess.”  
Graznikh chuckled at that. ”You'll never get laid if ya keep actin' like a snaga.”  
”I don't know 'bout that,” Sulmurz replied thoughtfully. ”She did let me touch her last time. I think I'm gettin' there, little by little.”  
”Did she, now? Where?”  
”...Foot. Oh, come _on!_ ” he exclaimed as Graznikh began to laugh. ”Foot's attached to leg! And where does the leg end, huh? I told ya, I'm gettin' there!” He sulked a little as Graznikh kept laughing.  
”Well, good luck with that,” Graznikh said once he had regained control. ”Ya sure know how to keep your hopes up.”  
  


”Look, I can't hold back anymore; how much of what you told that guy was a lie?” Praktash blurted out the moment they had released Angrenoc after feeding and paying him and returned to the upper floor.  
”Enough to make it believable,” Záhovar replied with the smile of a mystic. ”Outright lies are rarely effective. But mix it with the right amount of truths and half-truths and silence full of meaning, and the recipient will weave their own conclusions.”  
”But... so that little illusion was just pointless then? I mean, it was scary as shit, but not necessary, right?”  
She stopped by the window. ”Perhaps not necessary, but it helped. It set off the right amount of fear in him and made him believe that the servants of Lugburz are capable of things that should be impossible. Now he thinks us far stronger than Númenor and their cause a failure before they have even begun to try in earnest. Such little pieces are important when it comes to manipulation; it is like laying a puzzle without knowing what half the pieces even look like.”  
Praktash sat down in an armchair with wide eyes. ”I had no idea it was that... Simple? Complicated? I dunno... I always thought there was a lot of flashy sorcery involved, advanced stuff that regular people wouldn't get.”  
”Disappointed?”  
”A little,” he admitted with a meek grin. ”Makes me look all the bigger fool for fallin' for it.”  
Záhovar shook her head. ”Do not think that. Manipulation has little to do with sorcery, but that makes it a far more subtle, and more dangerous, art than most. Far greater minds than ours have fallen to it.”  
”I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”  
She watched as Praktash took a little whetstone from his belt and began filing his claws. ”Why do you trim your claws? Is it only for... practical reasons, or does it have any deeper significance?”  
He shot her a grin. ”Y'know, I think you're the first one to ask that. Everyone else just keeps tellin' me what I should or shouldn't do with 'em.” Then he grew serious. ”Truth is, I don't know. It's like combin' my hair or usin' that special healin' salve to keep my face from gettin' scarred. It just happens. Maybe it's some leftover from the compulsion or somethin', that I must 'stay pretty' or whatever.” He looked uncomfortable.  
”But you got the tattoos and the piercings. Is this different?”  
”Yeah. The tattoos an' the rest're adornments, they're there to enhance, not... mutilate. At least that's what I told myself when I got 'em. I doubt I woulda been able to go through with it if I hadn't. An' they can't be used as weapons. Claws can, so the witch had it pounded into me to keep 'em short.” He looked up from filing. ”What 'bout you? Where'd ya get yours?”  
”I have no tattoos,” Záhovar replied with a confused frown.  
”What are those black markin's, if not a tattoo?”  
”A cage.”  
  
Praktash's face fell a little. ”...Cage?”  
”It keeps me trapped within this body and chained to our Master's will. So long as I remain within, He allows me some measure of free will and independent thought, but should I lose it...” She looked down. ”I fear my fate would be similar to that of the Nazgûl, a lesser wraith than they but no less a slave to His will.”  
The whetstone fell, forgotten, into Praktash's lap. ”So... What are you? A wraith possessin' someone else's body?”  
”I do not know.” Praktash felt a chill run down his spine at seeing the fear in her eyes. ”I know what Graznikh sees when he looks upon me, but I do not know if I am that. I cannot remember anything from before I woke up in the depths of Lugburz save one thing, and that tells me nothing of what was before, if there ever was anything.”  
”What is it you remember?”  
”A dark sky overhead, casting all into shadow around me. Before me is a sea, calm but unreachable. On the horizon far away, a golden light shines that dapples the waves. That is all.”  
”Well, that's not much to go on,” Praktash commented. He picked the whetstone up and looked at it with a frown. Then he grinned. ”Pretty much the only thing I remember from my time before the dungeon is a pillow fight.”  
”Indeed?” Záhovar smiled a little as she sat down in the other armchair.  
”It was a _very_ good one.” Then he grew serious. ”What you say sounds a lot like compulsion. The whole feelin' of not really belongin' to your body, as if you're trapped inside it an' that even doin' things you wanna do is only 'permitted' by someone else.”  
”If that is the case, then it is one I cannot break free from, and that would kill me if I ever tried.”  
”No one's askin' ya to pick a fight with the Eye,” Praktash said. Then he frowned. ”You said 'if I remain within'... Does that mean that if you got injured..?”  
”If my body becomes so damaged that I can no longer remain within it, I am forfeit,” Záhovar confirmed. ”My... initial reason for finding you was altogether selfish. You are a skilled healer and I hoped that Graznikh would convince you to serve me so that my chances of avoiding that fate would increase.”  
”I knew that already,” he said with a grin. ”Well, not the wraith-part, but your reason for wantin' to put the collar on me. I doubt it was just 'cause it looks so bloody good on me.”  
”Do you now..?” Záhovar murmured and gave him a seductive little smile. Praktash responded in kind by throwing a leg up on the armrest and running a finger up the inside of his thigh while sighing lustfully with parted lips and giving her a look that seemed to suck her in.  
”Do not tease,” Záhovar scolded, ”especially when it implies making promises that you do not intend or are able to keep.”  
”Who says I can't keep promises?” Praktash purred.  
”That one does,” Záhovar replied and nodded towards his crotch.  
”Bloody snitch!!” he shouted at it jokingly.  
”Go play with Margzat, if that is what you want.”  
”He's no fun,” he complained. ”Too busy bein' all Officery. He keeps tellin' me to go play with myself, an' that's even less fun!”  
Záhovar laughed a little. ”The krîtar is being too 'Officery' and so you go for an even higher ranking one?”  
Praktash grinned. ”You're not _that_ Officery. Not annoyingly so. Y'know, I haven't heard you laugh in a while until now.”  
”Is that a good or a bad thing?”  
”Well, laughin' is good, isn't it?”  
Her smile disappeared. ”I feel no different.”  
”An' the promise..?” He stood and sauntered over to her.  
She frowned as he stopped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ”What promise?”  
”You really shouldn't tease,” he murmured into her ear. ”'Specially when it implies makin' promises you don't intend to keep.”  
”Praktash...” There was a warning in her voice as his hands began to wander downwards.  
”Please master, I've so _much_ to learn...”

Praktash was used to being in charge and on top. Graznikh and Margzat were the only exceptions he had made willingly and were anomalies in a world where he was on top for his own safety. The only two times he had fucked Záhovar, she had been thoroughly subdued and restrained and Graznikh had been nearby. Now, as she turned to face him and he spotted the dangerous gleam in her eyes, he began to wonder if he had misjudged the situation and if riling her like this hadn't been one big mistake right from the start.  
”And I have much to teach you,” she replied with a wraithlike hiss as she stood, ”if you but... obey!” Her left hand landed on his chest and she unleashed the spell she had been gathering strength for. It was a weak spell of pushing that sent Praktash skidding backwards and he stumbled into bed with an ”oof!”. Then he squeaked as Záhovar leapt after him and straddled his hips. He bucked to get her off but she dug her steel talons into the mattress on both sides of his waist and held him down. Praktash soon found that she was far stronger than she looked and that he could not fight her. _She said she wouldn't do this, she said! Trust her. She's scared ya before but never hurt ya._ Trust _her!_ He forced himself to relax and surrender, heart hammering in his chest.  
”If you wish to play, Lug-snaga, then you will play by _my_ rules,” Záhovar hissed. ”What you do is an insult that I will not stand for again!”  
”When'd I insult you?” Praktash snarled, but it was a frightened snarl, not an angry one. ”An' don't tell me ya didn't like what I did to ya last time!”  
”Enjoyment is not preference. Think you that I could not make your cock hard against your will, ride you to exhaustion and have you beg for me not to stop in the end? Have others not done that to you before?”  
Praktash nodded his understanding. ”Ya wanna be in charge, I get it.”  
”That is not it,” Záhovar said as she straightened up and let go of the mattress. ”Your preferences are as clear as moonlight, and I am but a last resort for you when all other doors are locked. I will not be used like that.”  
”So... Ya want me to come to you not 'cause there's no one else available, but 'cause I want what ya have to offer?”  
She nodded and left the bed, and Praktash couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Briefly there was a flash of emotion in Záhovar's eyes; the same kind of intense sadness that he had noticed a few times before. But before he could say any more, there was a knock on the door. Margzat stuck his head in and gave them a perplexed look for a moment before he found his voice.  
”Message for ya. An' one for Praktash.”  
Praktash gave him a surprised look and came over. ”Who'd write to me?” He opened the scrollcase and grinned as he spotted Graznikh's atrocious handwriting. But the grin soon faded as he read the message.  
  
_"Hey buddy,_

_Hope Záhovar hasn't messed ya up too bad. We're off to hunt rebels, more info in Záhovar's note. There's a woman (not tark) in the temple that's kinda pregnant. I can explain, but not like this. Wants your help with it, so would be good if ya can go there. Don't tell Záhovar._

_Fondles,  
Graz"_

Praktash crumpled the note up in his fist and began pacing the room. _'Fondles', huh? Graznikh, you stupid bloody idiot! I'm doin' my best to hook you back up with Záhovar an' you spit in our faces by goin' after a Man-whore, gettin' her preggers and dumpin' her in my lap after the fact?_ He growled as he leaned on the windowsill.  
”Is everything as it should be?” Záhovar asked. _I'm sorry, 'buddy',_ Praktash thought. _Hope ya like fieldin' this one. I'm not gonna cover up for ya this time._  
”Graznikh's been an idiot,” he growled. ”Read for yourself.” He threw the crumpled note over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see Záhovar's frown deepen as she read. When she was done, her eyes were dark with anger and the temperature in the room seemed to have sunken several degrees. ”'I can explain'?!”  
”Looks like Angrenoc was half-right about one thing, at least,” Praktash said as he turned from the window.  
”And how do you intend to 'help' with this?” Záhovar hissed.  
”You're the master,” Praktash replied. ”It's your call.”  
”I would have you kill her,” Záhovar hissed as she tore the note to pieces.  
”Um...”  
”No.” She grew cold. ”Make her talk. Find out what happened, in detail. If there is even the slightest suspicion that she lies or holds something back, give her to the uzhâk. And let her know her options.”  
”And the preg-”  
”End it. In whatever way you prefer.”  
”Right.”  
”Tell Margzat that I want the uzhâk ready to move by nightfall,” Záhovar said as she threw the remains of the note into the fireplace. ”And send a similar message to Ameqran Itri. Once Angrenoc leaves that message and we have visited the temple, we are done here. What?” she asked when Praktash gave the fire a disappointed look.  
”Nothin', 's just... That was the first letter I've ever gotten.” He shrugged. ”Nevermind, I'm not sure I wanna remember that anyway.” He turned to the door, but stopped before he opened it. ”Say, master?”  
”Yes?”  
”Just curious; what's the first thing you remember? From after... y'know.”  
”Pain. Darkness. And His voice, asking me who I am.” She looked up from the fire. ”What of you?”  
Praktash fidgeted a little. ”Feelin' good. Better'n I should. And... Her on top of me, ridin' my...” He couldn't continue and shuddered in disgust.  
”You need not continue.”  
Praktash gave her a nod of thanks, then left to find Margzat.

Three days after catching the watchpost and after putting some distance between themselves and the enemy camp, the Orcs were asleep and Ghakû had the watch, shielded from the stinging sun under an outcropping. The attack was so sudden that he barely had time to shout a warning. Graznikh opened his eyes and instinctively rolled to the side just in time to avoid an incoming blade. He kicked hard and his toe claws tore into the side of the Man's unprotected knee. After felling him and shoving a knife in his back, he leapt to his feet and joined the battle at the perimeter of the camp.  
Sulmurz did not have the room or time to use his bow, but proved quite proficient in close combat as well. Ghakû used his shield as both protection and weapon as he bashed the edge into an attacker's face while yanking the spear loose from where he had jammed it up another's armpit. Kraash impressed by wielding his poleaxe like he was born with it, leaving a trail of hacked-off limbs behind.  
”Quit leavin' 'em alive behind ya, lad!” Ghakû bellowed at him.  
”They can't fight without arms!” Kraash shouted back and roared as an arrow grazed his shoulder.  
The attackers soon broke and ran, regrouping well out of reach but still circling the Orcs. Ghakû caught Kraash by the back of his shirt to keep him from following them.  
”Did we lose anyone yet?” Graznikh bellowed. ”Mikbork?” The snuffler's answer was an arrow whistling past and hitting a tark in the throat. Now that he had a proper view, Graznikh saw that their enemies were a mishmash of tarks, southern tribesmen similar to those who had attacked him in the crater many years before and a few northerners as well, no doubt from the Great River delta. He counted eight, plus the seven that had fallen in the first attack. Ghakû caught an arrow on his shield. ”Whaddya think, chief?”  
”This is the same group we spied on earlier,” Graznikh said. ”They musta found the guy we killed and followed our trail.”  
”They'll think twice 'bout attackin' us now,” Kraash sneered. ”Couldn't even fell one in a surprise attack an' we got seven.”  
”Three of them were the snuffler's,” Ghakû pointed out. ”Wouldn'ta gone out alive o' my tumble if he hadn't picked one off for me.” He gave the little Orc a nod and Mikbork beamed with pride.  
”It's not over yet,” Sulmurz said, eyeing the Men while picking up his bow. ”There's still a lot of 'em. Whaddya say, chief? Break out or wait?”  
”Wait,” Graznikh said with a sly grin. ”We still got a cheat of sorts.”  
Now that the Orcs had two archers, the Men quickly found shelter. A few arrows were exchanged, but things soon calmed down. Graznikh glanced up at the sky.  
”We've got time on our side if our cheat doesn't return before then. Once the sun sets, they'll be bloody helpless.”

Graznikh and Sulmurz kept an eye on the remaining tarks while the others looted the bodies. The more the sun set, the more restless the Men became, no doubt knowing that they would stand little chance against the Orcs at night. As the shadows lengthened, a howl was heard in the distance and Graznikh grinned.  
”That's the signal,” he said quietly. ”Get 'em ready!” As he said that, a shout was heard from where the tarks were hiding, a shout that quickly turned into a scream interrupted by a thundering roar as the warg attacked their flank. The Orcs charged as well, leaping and rolling to avoid the incoming arrows while covered by Mikbork and Sulmurz. Soon the fray was entered again, this time with the Men on the defensive. Akûl howled in pain as an arrow pierced his hock and he took his vengeance by tearing a tark clean in two with both jaws and paws. Graznikh engaged another one, a tall southerner wielding a sword and shield. A stupid choice, seeing as he was only armed with two shorter blades, but Graznikh had faced opponents like this before. He repeatedly tried to feint his way inside the Man's guard without success, darting and weaving back and forth to wear him out. Suddenly the world seemed to slow down. Graznikh didn't know how it happened; he _saw_ the mace coming in on his right side and twisted his torso accordingly, but an annoying little rock caught his foot at just the wrong time and made him stumble ever so slightly. It was all it took; the mace connected solidly with his ribs and sent him flying, crashing into a jagged cliff. He heard Sulmurz roar his name even as the world grew darker than any sunset and he knew that all was lost.  
  
The very same moment, Záhovar's head snapped up from the report she was reading.  
”Horse...” she whispered as the fear spread in her chest. ”I need a horse! Right this moment!”  
The caravan that had accompanied Ameqran Itri had just arrived and they were setting things up for the journey. Now the caravan master and the settlement leaders interrupted their conversation to stare at her. Margzat stopped his inspection of the uzhâk.  
”Horse, Lug-durbatar?”  
”Something requires my attention immediately. Praktash, you will come as well! Now, where is that horse?!”  
”Th-there are no horses in the settlement, my lord,” one of the assembly members said.  
”Take my horse, High Officer,” Ameqran said. ”She is spirited, but will run to the ends of the Earth if you ask it of her!”  
”I may well have to,” Záhovar replied as she took the reins.  
”What's goin' on?” Praktash asked as Margzat helped push him up onto the horse's back. Záhovar mounted in front of him before she answered.  
”Graznikh is... gone. Unconscious, injured. I felt the attack through the bond only moments ago. I do not know how bad it is or how long he has left.”  
Praktash let out a terrified whimper, then another as Záhovar spurred the horse into a race against time. He held on for dear life, both his own and Graznikh's as they flew towards the sunset.  
  
Once Akûl crushed the head of the last attacker between his jaws, Sulmurz dropped his bow and ran over to Graznikh, loudly cursing. ”How bad izzit?”  
”Bad,” Ghakû growled. He had carefully cut the armour off his leader's chest and revealed the irregular black patch on the side of his chest where a broken rib poked out through the skin. Sulmurz put his ear against his chief's chest.  
”No bubblin'. That's a good sign, I'd guess; means the rib hasn't poked a hole in his lungs. But there'll be no moving him unless we can find some way to keep him still while we're at it.” He sat back up and looked around. ”Where's Mikbork?”  
”I sent him and Akûl off to find Praktash. I'd wager the healer'll know what to do with this.”  
”Shouldn'ta done it, there's no need to. Lord Záhovar probably knew what happened _when_ it happened; she's on her way an' the healer too.”  
Kraash frowned. ”How d'ya know that?”  
Sulmurz thought fast. ”'S the collar they wear, like this one? 'S sorcery-made, keeps 'em in touch with each other.”  
”Oh.”  
__  
Graznikh felt... empty. All was darkness around and above him, the world seemed washed, blurry and dull and the ground was dead beneath his feet. Behind him a strange light flickered, like a roaring fire burning in all directions at once, but no matter how he turned he could not look straight at it; it always remained behind. Then another flicker caught his attention, and as he turned towards it he couldn't help but gasp without sound. A vast sea stretched out before him, calm and unreachable from where he stood, and in the West a steady, golden light shone, dappling the waves. A Light like the sun but somehow better, more pure, like the lord of all suns that both beckoned and repulsed him.  
” _What is this place?” he whispered._  
” _One ya shouldn't be in.”_  
Graznikh turned to stare at Tarnakh. ”The fuck're you doin' here?”  
”Waitin'.” His sire gave him that oh-so-familiar grin. ”Not much else to do here.”  
”Waiting?” Graznikh frowned. ”Am I dead?”  
”Nar, not yet.” Shâtaz grinned as Graznikh spun to stare at him. Graznikh gave him an unsure smile. ”You too, huh?” Shâtaz shrugged in reply.  
” _How?”_  
”Stupidest fuckin' way,” his old friend snickered. ”Happened just after ya left with that golug. I took a wrong turn and got my face bashed in by some Uruk nobody's elbow.”  
”T'was quick, at least,” Tarnakh chuckled. ”I got shoved off th' barge when we crossed the Great River on the way back. No fun, tryin' to swim in that current. Went to the bottom right away.”  
” _I took a mace to the chest,” Graznikh began, but both Tarnakh and Shâtaz shook their heads._  
”Told ya, not yet!”  
” _You still got a long ways to go yet, cub. An' a lot to fight for.”_  
”An' what the fuck would you know about that?!” Graznikh growled. ”Did you watch me the whole time?”  
”Nar, but she told us.”  
Graznikh's face fell. ”She? Not...”  
”Whin,” Shâtaz confirmed with a grin. ”She comes by here now an' then. Dunno how, dunno why, but she does.”  
”Keeps us informed, she does,” Tarnakh said. Then he patted Graznikh's shoulder. ”I'm proud of ya, son.”  
That was too much. While alive, his sire would never give him more than a brief nod and this sudden onslaught of approval along with the mention of his âmbal broke the dam inside Graznikh's chest. He didn't care that the sire he had idolised and admired stood before him, nor that his friend who would have laughed his lungs out if Graznikh had done something like this in front of him while he was still alive did the same; he pressed his hands to his face and started crying. Tarnakh put an arm around him and Graznikh leaned on his shoulder as he bawled like a tark baby.  
” _I don't wanna go back,” he wailed. ”It's all shit over there!”_  
”Ya know that's not true, cub. There's a lot o' good too. Or did your âmbal lie to me?”  
Graznikh sobbed and shook his head. Then he glanced over at the golden light. ”What is that place?”  
Tarnakh frowned. ”I dunno.”  
”'S where Elves go when they die, isn't it?” Shâtaz asked. ”A-men, or whatever they call it.”  
”She's dead, right?” Graznikh whispered. ”Whin... That's how she comes here.”  
”I dunno 'bout that either,” Tarnakh said with a grin. ”We can't see what you're doin' out there, but she can. Could be she's both dead an' alive at the same time.”  
” _How the fuck does that even work?” Graznikh began, but then he fell silent._ I felt her die. But then she returned as Záhovar. An' she peeks through every now and then. How's that even possible if she's dead? How does she get here if she's alive?  
” _Well, I gotta go,” Shâtaz said. ”See ya next time, mate!” Before Graznikh could speak, Shâtaz walked behind him towards the fiery light that Graznikh could not see._  
” _I should go too,” Tarnakh said. ”'S time for ya to return now, cub. Can't linger here too long.”_  
” _How's Ma?” Graznikh asked._  
Tarnakh grinned. ”She's fine. Better'n ever.”  
”And Nana?”  
” _Haven't seen her.”_  
”How will I know when it's my turn?”  
” _You'll know,” Tarnakh said. ”'S the moment when you're able to turn around.” With that, he walked away. Graznikh spun to watch him go, but he had already disappeared behind him. No matter how he turned, he could not follow. Then he screamed as he could not stop spinning and he fell back into a world of pain._


	10. Cold Be Heart And Hand And...

Pain was omnipresent as Graznikh returned to consciousness. His chest was pure agony and every breath burned.  
”Easy now buddy, don't move.” He opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut to look into Praktash's worried green ones. The Uruk brushed away a tear of relief as Graznikh gave him a weak grin.  
”Y'know I'm gonna punch ya for this once you're healed, don'tcha?” Praktash said. ”Skai, you gave us a real scare there!”  
”Was just as scared myself,” Graznikh murmured.  
”D'ya want some ghâshpau? Spiked, for the pain.” Graznikh nodded and Sulmurz helped Praktash adjust his head so that he would not choke on his drink. ”Easy, now. Don't make him cough.”  
”That was fuckin' awesome!” Kraash exclaimed from somewhere nearby. ”I thought we were done for when those reinforcements came, but she just _mauled_ 'em! That move with the glaive was the sickest shit I've ever seen, an' those black webs? I've never seen a guy die from fear before, but that just did it! Sha pushdug, an' those _screams_!!” Ghakû shooed the chittering psychopath away before he could bother the High Officer further. Graznikh couldn't keep from grinning a little despite the pain.  
”Made a bit of an impact, did ya?” he whispered to Záhovar, who stood behind Praktash. She briefly met his eyes.  
”I assure you, it was unintentional.”  
”Didn't say it wasn't.” He swallowed and winced. ”Sorry.”  
Another glance. ”Why?”  
”For failin' ya. Again. For this,” he made a weak motion towards his chest.  
Her eyes softened a little. ”You have done well. Your plan was a good one.”  
Somehow her praise tasted like ash in his mouth. ”Still... Can't believe I went down in the first bloody skirmish.”  
”Buddy, this wasn't anyone's fault but the fucker's who held the mace,” Praktash said. ”An' he's already paid for it.”  
”Took my revenge for me, did ya?” Graznikh grinned. Soon the pain dulled somewhat thanks to the ghâshpau and his head cleared a little.  
”In a manner of speaking,” Záhovar whispered. Praktash smiled at them both. Then he gave Graznikh an encouraging nod towards Záhovar. Graznikh steeled himself and opened his mouth to come clean.  
”Master, I-”

A scream interrupted him, followed by Kraash's exalted whooping. ”One's still alive! _Yes!!_ ”  
”Wait,” Graznikh said as Záhovar's eyes darkened. ”Let him play. If ya wanna, I mean. I already know all we need.” He quickly explained the events that led to his untimely injury and Záhovar briefed him on her plans in turn. ”So we already know where they're holed up. We don't need the wagons if we hit 'em right on.”  
Záhovar pondered the new information for a while before she spoke. ”If we strike at the heart, the remaining camps may regroup elsewhere and continue. We need to end this, not just cause a delay. Let us continue with the wagon ruse; it will give you time to heal, and if we move quickly we will put the Enemy on the defensive and round them up at their base before we make the final strike there. I want them not just scattered and broken but eliminated, to the last man and woman.”  
”That's my Officer!” Kraash shouted over the enemy's fading screams.  
”Mind yer manners, whelp!” Ghakû growled and a loud clang was heard as he knocked Kraash over the head with his shield.  
”How the fuck is that one not dead yet?” Graznikh groaned. ”Ghakû must be holding his hand every step o' the road.”  
”Gives me something to do, other than wankin',” the old Orc chuckled as he came closer.  
”Isn't he helpin' ya out with that too?” Praktash asked with a grin. ”I think I've sniffed somethin' of that sort at times.”  
”Well, I'm not doin' it 'cause of the enlightening conversations,” Ghakû replied with a wicked leer.  
”Ya naughty ol' rascal,” Praktash chuckled. ”Got a boytoy all your own, don'tcha?”  
Ghakû only chuckled in reply.

They left Kraash to his sport and focused on getting Graznikh someplace safer. Praktash concluded that his ribs were broken in several places and that he probably had some minor internal bleeding, but nothing that would kill him as long as he didn't move too much. They quickly made a makeshift carrier out of some broken spears and torn clothing and carefully lifted him onto it. Ghakû and Sulmurz carried one end and the other was tied to Akûl's harness; the warg carried its master like he was made of glass as they returned to the temple. Záhovar rode ahead to alert the priests and to put some distance between the warg and the caravan master's wild-eyed horse.  
Praktash stayed behind to keep an eye on his buddy in case of emergency, but walked beside him in silence as they slowly made their way down to the road. After a while, Graznikh ordered a halt and told the others to keep their distance before asking him what was wrong.  
”Isn't that bloody obvious?” Praktash quietly replied. ”I thought I'd lost ya.”  
”Ya know I'd never give the credit o' my death to a tark,” Graznikh said with a weak grin.  
”This is no fuckin' joke!” Praktash snarled and went quiet as he regained control over the tears. ”Don'tcha fuckin' dare leave me alone here! I couldn't...”  
”I know, buddy.” Graznikh tried to reach out to him but gasped as his broken ribs were jostled. Praktash quickly caught his limp arm and put it back on the carrier.  
”An' don'tcha fuckin' dare move again! Skai, ya _want_ to die or somethin'?”  
”'S that all?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”That woman in the note...”  
”Yeah, have ya checked on her yet?”  
He shook his head again. ”Nar, not yet.” He met Graznikh's eyes with a strange expression. ”So are you the sire?”  
Graznikh couldn't help but laugh a little despite the pain. ”How sick d'ya think I am? Nar, I'm not the sire! I've no idea who it is. Could be that Angrenoc guy.”  
Praktash frowned. ”What? Why'd ya care about that then?”  
Graznikh briefed him on the events that led to their arrival at the temple. ”I left that part out of the first note I sent 'cause... Well I didn't think it'd be important.”  
”Then why ask me to 'help'? Why bother with a shara nobody?”  
”Ya know why! If Kraash hadn't-”  
”So knock him over the head, make sure it doesn't happen again an' move on! What's so bloody hard 'bout it?”  
Graznikh opened his mouth to reply, but found that he had nothing to say. Praktash was right; he shouldn't invest like this in someone who'd probably end up in the same situation again the moment he turned his back. He owed her nothing.  
”Fine,” he said. ”I'll drop it. Let's just ditch her an' be done with it.”  
”Can't do that,” Praktash said with a lopsided smirk. ”I'm under orders to question her.”  
Graznikh began to feel a little worried. ”Orders from whom?”  
”Who d'ya think? I didn't think our master'd be the possessive type, but apparently that's the case when you're involved.”  
Graznikh winced. ”You told her?!”  
”Yeah, I did! What the fuck were you thinkin', tryin' to sneak behind her back with all this? If you'd just told us, told _her,_ right from the start then you wouldn'ta pissed her off. Now she wants your toy locked up in a small room with the uzhâk an' give them free hands on everythin' she's got.”  
”Well, that's fuckin' easily solved,” Graznikh snarled. ”She could just sift through my head an' see the whole thing first-hand.”  
”You tell her.”  
”Yeah, I will!”

They fell silent for a while. Night had fallen proper and the air was filled with the sounds and scents of the arid near-desert.  
”So whaddya gonna do?” Graznikh asked. ”Not to meddle, just curious.”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Do I look like a walkin' drugstore to you? I don't have anythin' with me to end a pregnancy. I only brought some stuff to mend wounds and deal with simple illnesses, not play delivery service of any kind.” He snorted. ”But she did tell me to end it anyway I prefer. I could twist that an' prefer to 'end' it by leavin' it to come out on its own. But Záhovar'll probably gimme the lash again if she ever finds out.”  
”Why d'ya keep talkin' like there's only one?”  
Praktash gave Graznikh a confused look. ”There _is_ only one. Could be two, but that's rare. Why?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Wait... Shara only get one cub? Not a litter?”  
The Uruk healer laughed out loud at that. ”What, ya didn't know?!”  
”I'd no bloody idea,” Graznikh replied with an astonished expression. ”What about tarks, same there? Just the one?”  
”Just the one,” Praktash confirmed with a grin. ”Half-bloods vary; sometimes it's one, sometimes a litter. But they get in trouble if there're many whelps: most half-blood females die while tryin' to push 'em out if they get a litter. The man-blood weakens 'em. Shara have more difficult births in general since their cubs are bigger an' it wears 'em out faster.”  
”I did always wonder why there were so few half-blood females in Dunland,” Graznikh mused after accepting another swig of ghâshpau. ”I figured they killed 'em all. Guess they did, in a fashion. Orcs'n Men aren't meant to breed, it's just wrong.”  
”But they do make bloody cute cubs,” Praktash murmured wistfully. Graznikh tried prodding him for details, but Praktash just shook his head and told him to drop it.

Graznikh was brought back to the monastery to heal, and this time he got a cell of his own in the dormitory with a nice, soft bed. Praktash interrogated the healer on the extent of his knowledge and left detailed instructions on what to do and give and in what doses. He finished by giving the poor man a detailed account on what he was going to do to him if he came back and found that his instructions had not been followed to the letter. The monk was trembling visibly when the Uruk finally let him go.  
Praktash also went to see Anyara, and was unusually reticent about how things had gone when Graznikh asked him. But as far as Graznikh knew, she wasn't given to the Uruks after Praktash gave Záhovar his report so whatever she had said was probably not too stupid.  
He felt conflicted over Záhovar's reaction to the news of his supposed dalliance; she had never struck him as the jealous kind. He had no intention of fucking any Mannish female unless he was desperate and had no other options, but the fact that she seemed to want to keep him from it made a part of him want to rebel and do it anyway. He did miss plashnak, but it was _her_ he wanted; fucking any other woman would be a meagre substitute. _If you expect me to be like Sulmurz'n come begging for it at your feet, you're bloody mistaken. I went seven years without; let's see who lasts the longest this time._  
The faint sound of Záhovar's voice reached his ears from somewhere beyond the closed door. The anger hit him from nowhere, quickly turning his thoughts into a roar of rage inside. Graznikh gritted his teeth and tried to remain in control, and as silence fell again he tried to analyse what had just happened. _Where the fuck did that come from? I'm not angry. Or am I? But why? She saved my worthless life. Nar, that's not it; wasn't even thinking o' that when I heard her now. It just... came, there was no reason for it. Skai, this isn't right! It's like it's not even my own anger I'm feelin', an' if I can't trust my own senses, then what?_  
Graznikh decided not to say anything until he had this figured out, fearing that if Záhovar found out, she might leave him behind for good. Knowing that she would go into battle without him at her side was bad enough, and he choked back a whimper. _I don't wanna be left behind, don't wanna be alone... Skai âmbal, I don't wanna lose ya!_

Záhovar did not come to visit him, being too busy with last-minute preparations, but some of the others did. Sulmurz came in and interrupted him in the middle of a failed attempt at rawhide braiding.  
”Bosnauk,” he greeted with a nod.  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”'Ally'? 'S that it?”  
”What? Nar, that's not what it means.”  
”It does back where I come from. What, what'd ya mean with it?”  
”...Right. In Morigost it means 'pal' or 'buddy' or something like 'at.”  
”Ally, then,” Graznikh grinned.  
”Sod off,” Sulmurz chuckled. ”Anyway, here.” He held out a little waxcloth package.  
Graznikh looked it over. ”What's this?”  
”Last o' the dried horse meat. Figured ya like that kinda shit, an' we'll get new rations now, so I don't really need it myself.”  
”Presents, drartul?” Graznikh snickered. ”Ya flirting with me?”  
”Fuck off, I'm not!” Sulmurz snarled. ”Don't start like that bloody Uruk, or I'm outta here!”  
”Nar, he may've rubbed up on me but not _off_ on me. So why'd ya bring me this anyway?”  
”Payment for the whip,” Sulmurz replied. ”Figured I owed ya. Better late than never.” It was a reasonable enough answer, but Sulmurz's lopsided grin as he said it told Graznikh that he was lying.  
”Right,” he said with a grateful nod. ”So how's it holding together? Hasn't frayed up yet?”  
”Nar, it's holdin' just fine. Darn thing'll last longer'n me, I'd wager.”  
”Well, here's to a long and happy life of lashing,” Graznikh said and lifted his ghâshpau mug before downing it with a shudder. ”Skai, this stuff just gets worse with time.”  
”Can't hold yer liqueur? 'At's a shame,” Sulmurz purred and laughed as Graznikh spat some of it at him.  
”If you weren't all the way over there I'd show ya liqueur!” Then he fell back onto the bed with a grunt. ”Skai, I'm restless! I'm not made to lie here like a bloody veggie while you guys're havin' all the fun. So what happened back there when I went down?”

Sulmurz scowled. ”Well, ya went down for starters. The tarks started celebrating their victory a li'l too early, pushing us harder'n they should. Their own bloody fault, really. Akûl drove your attackers off an'-”  
”Last I remember was him turnin' into a fuckin' pincushion,” Graznikh growled. ”Is he..?”  
”Nar, he's fine,” Sulmurz said with a grin. ”Yer Uruk patched him up just fine.” Then he started laughing. ”Ever seen a warg high on painkillers? He started humpin' the high priest's leg, only he was a little big and the priest a bit small. Didn't work out too well.”  
”Did he kill him?”  
”Nar, the Uruks dragged him off an' tied him up 'til he calmed down.”  
”So then what?” Graznikh asked after he had stopped simultaneously laughing and gasping in pain.  
”Well, we drove off that second charge an' ganged up 'round ya to see how bad it was. They hold back, we hold back, same as before. Then we hear horns in the distance.”  
”I'm guessing that's what Kraash was on about when I woke up.”  
”Yeah. We thought we were done for... But then it all went black.”  
Graznikh frowned at Sulmurz's sly grin. ”What? What happened?”  
” _She_ happened,” he purred, ”just when the reinforcements came. I didn't think much of it until every bloody shadow sprung to life around us. Most o' the tarks just broke and ran at that point, before they were even bloodied. Your mace guy was still on his feet though; he rallied the newcomers right at her. Záhovar went straight for the enemy commander with Kraash in tow, choppin' legs off both horses'n riders as they went. When she caught him, she...” He frowned. ”I dunno, she grabbed him by the neck an' _stared_ at him. Just stared. An' he screamed like she was slowly pullin' his spine out through his ear. No idea what really happened, but he was dead'n cold by the time she let go.” Sulmurz shivered a little.  
”An' what about Praktash? What'd he do?”  
Sulmurz shook his head a little. ”He threw one look at ya, then asked me who did it. Then he went after mace guy, disarmed him with that staff o' his just like that. I'd wager that mace is still spinning in the air, half-way to the Star Island by now. Then he broke his arms'n legs and finished by planting the staff head right in his head.” He chuckled a little. ”Ya could see the blood'n brains squirtin' outta the holes in his helmet. Gotta say, I'm a bit impressed. Didn't think that one had it in him.”  
”Skai,” Graznikh purred with a bloodthirsty leer. ”Wish I'd seen that!”  
Sulmurz mumbled something unintelligible in reply and stood to leave.  
”Keep an eye on her for me, will ya?” Graznikh said.  
”Oh, I'll watch her alright,” Sulmurz leered. ”Do get those fuckin' ribs fixed, will ya? Wouldn't be the same attackin' that stronghold when we're one ushatâr short.”

Praktash brought Graznikh his dinner shortly after Sulmurz had left. As Graznikh tried to sit and failed, Praktash barked at him to stay put and began stuffing his mouth with the food.  
”The fuck're ya doing?!” Graznikh exclaimed as the Uruk spat the chewed food out into his hand and offered it to him.  
”Mashin' it up for ya,” Praktash replied.  
”You're gonna feed me like a fangless cub? I've still got teeth, y'know.”  
”You're bloody right I will! If you choke on this, you won't get it back up with your ribs in that condition an' I can't push on them to help ya. I'm not gonna have ya die on a piece of meat!”  
Graznikh grumbled a little over the indignity of the situation, but he was hungry and it was clear that Praktash wouldn't let this go. He slurped up the saliva-drenched mouthful with a humiliated scowl, dearly hoping that no one would walk in on them. Praktash made sure to chew every morsel before feeding it to him until the plate was licked clean.  
”I'm gonna have the monks cook an' mash it for ya 'til you're strong enough to sit up. An' don'tcha dare refuse to eat! You need all the strength you can get.”  
”Fine,” Graznikh muttered. ”All this cuteness is making me queasy.”  
Praktash snorted. ”What cuteness?”  
”First Sulmurz brings me presents, now you're feeding me like a baby pup. What's next, Záhovar bringing me flowers?”  
Praktash suddenly looked interested. ”Sully brought a present? What'd he give ya?”  
”'Sully'? Really? Ya wanna wake up with a knife in your back?” Graznikh laughed. ”T'was the last o' the horse meat.”  
”Well, that _is_ cute,” Praktash snickered. ”Maybe he likes ya.”  
”Nar, not like that.”  
”Ya sure?” Praktash asked with a grin.  
”Yeah, I'm sure. Have you seen the way he looks at Záhovar? No one else gets that look. Definitely not me.”  
”He could be hidin' it. Besides, you're crap at tellin' when people try to chat ya up.”  
”I'm not!”  
”Yeah, you are! Remember that one guy we used to hang out with down by East-Gate? Who was droolin' after ya for many moons an' you had no clue at all?”  
”Well, he was bloody subtle about it!”  
”What about that other one, the one with the spikes in his forehead? You didn't get that either 'til he had ya backed into a corner, thinkin' the two of ya had somethin' goin'. An' you thought he was tryin' to kill ya an' pulled a knife on him.”  
”Did you have to remind me of that?” Graznikh groaned. ”That was fuckin' embarrassing!”  
Praktash laughed. ”See? You _are_ crap at that! But you're right, I don't think Sully likes ya like that. If he does, he's so subtle even I can't tell.”  
”Trying to get your own hopes up?”  
”Who, me?” Praktash gave him an innocent smile. ”I just like to watch him squirm.”  
Graznikh grinned back. ”So you're just teasing, then? Not gonna follow through?”  
”That depends on _how_ he squirms. And what Záhovar decides. But either way, I'm not gonna rape him. He's a sweet li'l snaga, despite all.”

Now it was Graznikh's turn to arch an eyebrow. ”Záhovar? Since when did you care what she thinks?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Since we worked some things out.”  
”Now I'm curious,” Graznikh leered. ”What did happen between the two of ya while I was off playin' in the woods?”  
”Please don't be,” Praktash murmured in reply. Then he winced. ”We just... talked. 'Bout a lot of things. Some were things we needed to air, some were just bloody nonsense. But it was good. Helped me understand some things I didn't before. An' I told her some things I've only ever told you before, an' she listened, she didn't judge the way I thought she would.”  
”Worked things out, have ya?” Graznikh quietly asked.  
”Not everythin',” Praktash replied. ”But some, an' it's a good start. I hope to do it again, an' maybe help the two of ya work things out too.” He grinned. ”She also used me an 'Zat as advisors. Poor 'Zat's probably been asked for his opinion on things more often durin' the last few weeks than he has in all his life before.”  
”And what did he do?” Graznikh asked.  
”At first he couldn't answer at all,” Praktash chuckled. ”He just kept stutterin'. But he came 'round soon enough. He's clever, he's just not used to usin' his brain the way Záhovar demanded him to.”  
”So that's it? You just talked?”  
”Weeelll... Nar. I did try to play with her, but she turned me down flat.”  
The grin disappeared from Graznikh's lips. ”Do I wanna know what that means?”  
”She blasted me into bed, I mean really _blasted_ me, with a spell. Then she straddled me and pinned me down, hissin' that she'd gladly fuck my brains out but that we'd do it her way, not mine.” He chuckled as he noticed Graznikh's mortified look. ”I sorta panicked. I didn't hurt her!” he added quickly. ”Just thrashed a bit 'til I calmed down, but I couldn't get away. Skai, she's stronger than she looks! Anyway, she said I was insultin' her with what I did an' told me to come back when I'd made up my mind.”  
”The fuck does that even mean? She's bloody crazy.”  
”Nar, she isn't!” Praktash snapped. ”Why d'ya keep twistin' everythin' she says? It's like you're _lookin'_ for things to get pissed at!”  
Graznikh scowled. Praktash's words had made his earlier worries resurface. ”Maybe I am.”  
Praktash frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”Nothing, just forget it. So what did she mean?”  
”That she doesn't wanna be end-of-the-line. Y'know, the one ya go to when you can't get a fuck elsewhere. Stop that!” he snapped as Graznikh began to make faces. ”She was right! I _was_ doin' that, but I won't do it again. We'll go on as... I don't know what to call it.”  
”Bosnauki?” Graznikh grinned.  
”The fuck did you just call me?!”  
Graznikh stopped grinning. ”...Allies?”  
”What? That's not what it means!”  
”Is too. Sulmurz says it means 'buddies' in the Morigost dialect. Where I come from it's 'allies'.”  
”Well, the guys from Morigost gets everything wrong! You've tasted their bloody food, haven't ya? Don't listen to them!”  
”Why, what's it mean in Lugburz?”  
”Not Lugburz, Blog Shakâmb, Uruk dialect. An' it's a kind of anomaly, when two or more cubs're born sorta fused together, usually at the hip or head. It's an insult too, bad enough to get the fist in places you wouldn't wanna have a fist in.”  
Graznikh stared at nothing in particular. ”I'd no idea that could even happen!”  
Praktash grinned. ”Well, be careful how ya talk to people. We've got enough misunderstandin's goin' on as it is.”

Praktash frowned and looked down. ”Y'know, I used to feel like that, too. Back when you were still her weapons trainer. Like I was second pick, like even though you were fuckin' me an' not her I was still just somethin' on the side. I thought... Well, that once ya had her back proper you'd ditch me. That's why I had things set up to leave Lugburz. Then that attack happened an' you were caught, an' I ran for completely different reasons.”  
Graznikh started a little at that. ”You were planning on leavin' me?”  
”I wasn't sure. But I wanted a way out, just in case.” He smiled a little. ”I thought I could hide from ya, the way I hid from the witch. I'm kinda glad my plan didn't work out.”  
”So am I, buddy. So am I.”  
Praktash leaned forward from his kneeling position to rub his nose against Graznikh's with a lovesick grin. ”Get better soon, that's an order. I fuckin' miss ya, an' I miss fuckin' ya even more.”  
”Don'tcha worry, I'm not gonna lie here any longer'n I have to,” Graznikh murmured back.  
”Nor should you. Get up an' move as soon as you're able, it'll help ya heal. So... For when you're healed; top or bottom?”  
”Bottom,” Graznikh purred, and Praktash gave him one of _those_ smiles.  
”Then you better start lookin' over your shoulder, little snaga. 'Cause I'm gonna give ya the fuck of your lifetime when I get back.” Their fangs locked and Graznikh bit down as hard as he could, making Praktash purr with closed eyes. After a few sweet moments Praktash let go, softly brushing his lips against Graznikh's in a way that sent pleasant shivers down his back.  
”Maybe I should reconsider this Elvish business,” the Uruk whispered. He moved downwards with suggestive movements and Graznikh could feel his hot breath tickle his abdomen, crotch and thighs before he stepped back, licking his lips in a seductive manner.  
”You fucking tease,” Graznikh growled as the leering Uruk backed out the door. ”I can't even do anything about it like this!” Praktash's only answer was to lick the doorpost slowly without breaking eye contact before closing the door with one last purr.

 

Záhovar felt like growling as she inspected the uzhâk and the wagons.  
”This is suicide,” she muttered to herself. ”I do not have the numbers to succeed in this! I should have had a hûrk at least, if not two. The soldiers Itri gave me will no doubt turn tail at the first sign of raiders.”  
”Testin',” Margzat rumbled behind her and she turned abruptly towards him. ”What?”  
”'At's what they did to me, at any rate,” he said. ”Back when I first showed skill at command. They sent me off with too small numbers, set a trap to see if I'd make it out, solve the problem. This ain't no setup, but I'm thinkin' they're testin' ya all the same.”  
”I held the belief that the Trench was your test. And that you did admirably at getting that mess sorted. But that does not help me now.”  
He grinned a little at the praise. ”'Course they'd put a High Officer through deeper shit'n a mere Captain. What 'bout the mercenaries the high priest sent for? Maybe they'll come.”  
”I cannot suffer any more delays. The enemy spies might already know the details of this ruse and render it futile and us food for the crows when we set out.”  
”Lord Officer!”  
They turned to watch Torunn, who approached at a half-run. Once he reached them, he stopped to breath before speaking again.  
”There is an army at the gate,” he told Záhovar. ”One of the desert tribes. Their leader has asked for you by name.”

The unexpected visitor waited in the temple's hall of worship. He had a neatly trimmed, pointy beard that made his chin seem longer than it was, an equally well-trimmed moustache and black, curly hair tightly braided into rows that were held together in a ponytail at his neck. His posture was regal but his eyes were shrewd, and his clothing marked him as one of the desert tribesmen. He gave Záhovar a calculating look before greeting her with a flourishing bow.  
”Honoured One. I apologise if I interrupted your doings; I meant no disrespect nor insult.”  
”May the Eastern wind be always at your back,” Záhovar replied. ”None shown, none taken.”  
The Man smiled mirthlessly. ”I thank you.” He looked around a little with a frown, as if searching for something to say. ”I heard odd rumours, some time ago, of a disturbance in the Great Tower. I tried to gain some clarity on the matter, but no one seemed capable of telling me what caused it, or if it had even happened.”  
”Change is often chaotic,” Záhovar replied. ”But once the inferno settles, does the air not seem cleaner than before? The line of command has been straightened into greater efficiency, like a rod of crude metal is hammered and sharpened into a sword. And to make it strong, fire must cleanse the impurities, the hammer beat out unevenness and the grindstone wear away the useless dust.”  
The stranger seemed taken aback for a moment, but found himself quickly. ”Truer words were never spoken to my ears. I... apologise again, this time for my rusticity. I am not used to hearing such speech from a woman, nor converse with one so freely.”  
”Your honesty is refreshing,” she said coolly. ”Many others have simply kept silent and voiced their doubt behind my back. But He has no tolerance for weakness, no matter where or how it shows. The position of High Officer is not one easily gained nor easily kept. Think you that I, woman that I am, would be sheltered from the storm? If so, then you are sorely mistaken and if you desire proof of my strength I shall gladly give it to you.”  
”That will not be necessary, I assure you. Actions may speak louder than words, but words of your actions in the trade stop and elsewhere have already spread. That is why I came; to find the truth behind these words for myself.”  
”And what have you found?”  
He smirked. ”That the price on the raiders' heads have risen since last I passed here.” He suddenly fell silent and his eyes widened slightly. Záhovar turned to see Praktash standing in a doorway. He met the man's eyes with a calm, confident expression.  
”I got ya some refreshments, master. If you're interested.”  
Záhovar nodded and turned back to her guest. ”Would you do me the honour of sharing them?” The man nodded.

”I fear your name has eluded me,” Záhovar said as they sat down in a smaller room, on the large pillows that served as chairs in the scarcely wooded South. ”Is it too soon?”  
”No, I believe we have traded idle words for long enough,” the man replied with a smile. ”I must admit I sometimes grow restless with the more tedious parts of my people's traditions, but if we do not hold onto them, what is left? I am Danyal, head of the clan of the Black Serpent.” Praktash came up to pour them drinks, but Záhovar held up a hand to stop him. Danyal nodded slyly and reached for the bottles and cups himself.  
”I would take care with the one with the rawhide handle if I were you,” Záhovar warned. ”It contains ghâshpau, and that is not for the faint of heart.”  
Danyal looked up. ”I have heard of it before. Is it as bad as they say?”  
”It is an acquired taste, for sure,” Záhovar said with a small smile, ”but it is not the taste that truly sets it apart from other beverages; it is the effect it has.”  
Danyal hesitated briefly before reaching for the bottle with a determined look. ”I doubt that even Orcs would drink poison.”  
Praktash watched him drink with curiosity; he had never seen what effect his brew had on roundears before. After the first sip, Danyal began o cough. He leaned forward, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the back of his hand against his lips; there were even tears in his eyes as the ghâshpau burned down through his throat. But soon he straightened up with a bewildered look and gasped quietly.  
”Are you well?” Záhovar asked while sipping from her own cup.  
Danyal looked up from his hands and nodded. ”Yes... Yes, I am quite well.” He let out an amazed little laugh. ”I feel as if the colours of the world have suddenly grown brighter. And... I can _feel_ the air move across my skin.” As he looked around, mesmerised, he noticed Praktash studying him intently, head cocked. Danyal swallowed and quickly looked away. ”It is a potent concoction,” he said a little too loudly. ”I would guess this is one of the tricks behind the rumours of the unusual strength of the great Orc warriors of the Great Tower.”  
Záhovar glanced at Praktash and he responded with a shrug and an 'I have no idea what he's on about'-look.  
”One, but not all,” Záhovar replied. ”They have impressive stamina all on their own, as well.”  
Danyal gave her a thoughtful nod. ”I have never had the opportunity to see them in action. It must be a... remarkable sight.” Praktash's eyes narrowed in confusion.  
”I daresay it is,” Záhovar said with a perfectly neutral expression. ”But acting _with_ them is even moreso. Their performance is quite impressive. Especially the length of it.” Now Praktash's eyes widened. He sniffed the air briefly, then he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.  
”I do not doubt your words,” Danyal replied. ”From what little I've seen, they seem capable enough. How do they hold up compared to Men?”  
”I fear I have not yet had the opportunity to compare the two.”  
”Then perhaps that opportunity will arise in the coming days.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. From the corner of her eye, she saw Praktash stare straight ahead while shaking slightly. ”Indeed? And why would that be?”  
”A man whom I trust spoke to me of the raiders you hunt. I have come to lend aid, if you will have me.”  
”How come you have not offered your services before?”  
”There was no one to offer them to,” Danyal replied. ”The caravan masters and settlers do not trust us, and would not even deign to speak with me.”  
”Are their mistrust unfounded?”  
”Sadly, no. Many of my kinsmen have strayed from the righteous path and thrown their lot in with the Sea Folk, and some have attempted to persuade me to do the same. But the Black Serpent is loyal to the One. So was my father, his father before him and through them, me.”  
”And have you to offer?”  
He held his hands out. ”My tribe's finest warriors, seventy of them. All mounted and armed with bows, shields and scimitars. And me. We are yours to command.”  
Záhovar pretended to think it over while sipping the ghâshpau. _Seventy mounted warriors, appearing at this time and place. This is no coincidence I think, but who is pulling the strings?_  
”Your offer is an interesting one,” she told Danyal after a while. ”I may have use for you. But you know your warriors' weaknesses and skills better than I, and it would be foolish to waste such competence. I will hold council with my other commanders this evening; will you join us?”  
Danyal nodded. They traded a few more empty phrases about the winds and the condition of the local water holes before breaking up. As Danyal walked out the door, he gave Praktash a look that seemed to sear through the Uruk's armour.

The moment the door closed, Praktash collapsed. ”You fuckin' warg bitch! You did all that on purpose, you... You... Karkû-nargzabaturz makatok!”  
”Are you telling me that you did not enjoy it?” Záhovar asked with a smirk. Praktash shook his head, giggling too hard to speak.  
”So why didn'tcha let me serve him?” he asked once he had calmed down.  
”Because of the tribal tradition,” she answered. ”The desert tribes take great pride in independence and ability. Only children and the elderly need help with menial tasks. To have someone serve him drinks or food would be the same as telling him that we consider him weak and incapable of feeding himself, which would be a great insult and possibly cost us his support.”  
Praktash gave her an incredulous look. ”Seriously? Why do all Men have such ridiculous ideas about things?”  
Záhovar shrugged. Then she smirked. ”I am tempted to say 'not all Men', but I have not met them all so I cannot say that. You may very well be right. As for why, I do not know that either. The race of Men tend not to study themselves with a critical eye very often, so very little is written about why they do things a certain way.”  
As they walked back to the entrance, they passed the door to Graznikh's room. Záhovar's footsteps slowed a little, as if she was reluctant to pass.  
”Wanna visit him?” Praktash whispered. Záhovar did not answer, but kept looking at the door. ”Go to him then.”  
”Will you ever give up?”  
”Nar. Not 'til you're back together.”  
”Why?”  
”Isn't that obvious? You two need each other, neither o' ya are happy like this.”  
”I am not in this to be 'happy'.”  
”But it makes things easier, right?” Praktash smiled. ”Give it a try. You know you want to.”  
Záhovar gave him an unreadable glance. Then his smile widened as she turned from him, opened the door and went inside.

A few hours later, Záhovar marched along the caravan, flanked by Margzat and Danyal.  
”Give the order to move out.” As the order was repeated in two different tongues, Praktash shouldered his backpack and sauntered up to her with a grin. ”So, how did..?” He trailed off and his smile faded when he spotted her icy glare. ”No?” When she did not answer, he cursed under his breath and kicked at a rock which accidentally hit one of the slaves in the back of his head, killing him instantly. Praktash squeaked. ”I didn't mean..!”  
Margzat patted his shoulder with a dark chuckle. ”Easy, Bukrazikh. You'll get yer fair share o' killin' soon enough, no need to start the party too early, hmm?”  
”Fuck off, half-troll,” Praktash replied, but his heart wasn't in it. _Graznikh, for fuck's sake... What's_ wrong _with you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this series on and off for ten years, not just in writing but in art as well. Recently I've dug up a lot of old drawings of the characters that sow how they've developed over the years. If anyone is interested in seeing them, let me know in the comments and I'll post them on my DeviantArt page at hoglorf.deviantart.com
> 
> Sha – an interjection  
> Pushdug – 'stinking' or 'dungfilth'  
> Bosnauk – Ally (White Mountain dialect), friend (West Mordor dialect) or siamese twin (Black Uruk dialect)  
> Karkû-nargzabaturz makatok – Cock-needy slut


	11. A Question Of Trust

Soft footsteps announced an unwelcome visitor. Graznikh pretended to sleep when he heard the door open, even though he knew the priest wouldn't leave until he had acknowledged him. Berhanu the healer had turned out to be an unusually stubborn pest, hellbent on following Praktash's instructions despite any protests Graznikh might have. The only positive thing about him was that he didn't speak much.  
”Whaddya want?”  
”Eat.”  
Graznikh sighed. ”I'm not hungry.”  
”Eat.”  
He considered protesting a little longer, but he knew that the effort would be a futile one. Wincing, he sat up and walked over to the table where Berhanu had placed the tray with his food. The monk refused to let him eat in the bed, insisting that every movement helped him heal. Graznikh wasn't sure that he cared about that any more, but moving was easier than quarreling with 'the Bear'. Any attempt to claw him was rewarded with stinging raps by the thin rod he always carried, and Graznikh wasn't nearly hale enough to attack him for real.  
”Any news?” he asked tentatively as he ate. Berhanu shook his head and Graznikh swallowed his disappointment. Three weeks had gone since the others left him behind and not a single word had come back since. All he knew was that Záhovar wasn't dead, but she was too far away for the bond to be more than a faint dot in the back of his consciousness and he knew nothing about the others. It felt a bit like being in a free fall, suspended in the air, not knowing when he'd hit the ground or what would come of it. Nothing good, that was for sure. Not after that last night.  
  
To keep the restlessness and his own thoughts at bay, he moved around as much as his battered body would allow. The night sky was clear more often than not and after finding a small ladder that led up to the temple's flat roof, he took to watching the night sky and the desolate lands surrounding the little monastery. Berhanu still found him, of course, and made sure he came down to eat.  
The only one to greet him with enthusiasm was Akûl. The warg had also been left behind, too injured to follow at the time but now he was as restless as Graznikh.  
”I'm glad not everyone saw fit to ditch me,” Graznikh said as they sat in the shade of a tree.  
”Gur nartatikh Muzgûrgol,” Akûl replied.  
”I'm hardly fit to ride anywhere like this.”  
”Lat nauz. Guri nauz.”  
Graznikh almost fell over as his fuzzy backrest suddenly disappeared. Akûl trotted over to the shed where the Orcs had previously stayed and disappeared behind it. The sound of digging could be heard for a while before he returned with a long, dirty stick. The warg dropped it at Graznikh's feet and gave him an expectant look. Graznikh couldn't believe his eyes.  
”You wanna play 'throw the stick'?! What the fuck are you, a warg or a bloody tarkish lapdog?”  
Akûl made a face that said ”how daft can you possibly be?” and nudged the stick closer to him with his snout.  
Graznikh sighed. ”Fine, if you insist.” As he picked the stick up and took a closer look, he realised that it was no stick but an unstrung Uruk warbow. The large crack near one tip and the broken bowstring still tied to it told him why they had left it behind.  
”Not much use, izzit? 'Sides, I couldn't draw this even if I was well and it not broken. Why d'ya want me to have this?”  
The warg took the broken bow from him, grabbed it with both paws and bit off the limbs.  
”Well, _that_ isn't gonna help much,” Graznikh commented. Then he had to duck as Akûl spat the bow handle back at him with a snarl.  
”Ong-krimpat!” the warg barked. Graznikh didn't get it at first, but then he looked at the handle and his face cracked up in a thoughtful grin. He remembered a bow that Brodhurz, leader of the legendary warg rider pack out of Nurza Shûk, had shown him once; nothing more than a wooden handle with metal limbs attached to it instead of it being in one piece. It made the bow shorter, trading reach for maneuverability while mounted.  
”So... Smithing, izzit? Think it'll work?” Akûl nodded.

Once he could move his arms somewhat freely, Graznikh began practicing with his knives. But moving at his usual speed proved disastrous for his ribs and after the first attempt, he was bedridden for two days after. Torunn had seen the whole thing unfold and sought him out when he lay sweating and groaning from the pain while waiting for Berhanu and the painkillers.  
”Pushing yourself will not make you heal faster,” he said. ”If you feel restless and wish for something to do, I will gladly assign you some tasks that fit your current condition.”  
”I'm an ushatâr,” Graznikh sneered. ”I don't do snaga work.”  
”Is that so?” Torunn arched an eyebrow. ”So we are to be your 'snaga' instead?”  
”If ya like.”  
”We do not.” The high priest's face grew hard. ”You have disrupted our calling long enough. You are fit to walk and climb, then you are fit to work. You will give back a little of what you have taken.”  
”I thought lord Záhovar told ya to heal me,” Graznikh snarled, ”not use me like a bloody workbeast! I'm fuckin' Lug-snaga, ya can't command me!”  
”Curious,” Torunn retorted, ”because I distinctly heard her revoke any privilege you might have had in this place. I believe the words she used were 'do not kill him, but anything short of that is sanctioned'.”  
”What?!” _That fucking bitch..!  
_ ”So what will it be? Do as told, or try your luck defenseless and injured outside?”  
”Ya think I couldn't get back in here if I wanted?”  
”I do not doubt that you can,” Torunn smirked. ”But can you _fight_ your way in? Or handle the mob from the settlement that wants you to hang and burn for your perceived crimes? Somehow I doubt it.”  
Graznikh growled, but he knew he could use this situation. He pretended to think things over, then glanced at Torunn. ”Fine. If you're so bloody eager to have a snaga... But I'm outta here once I'm healed.”  
”And no one will stop you.”  
”Ya need a smith? I'm not really fit to dig ditches like this.”  
”But you can wield a hammer?”  
”Left side's still good.”  
Torunn hesitated briefly. ”We may have use for a blacksmith,” he said slowly. ”But any mischief on your part, and-”  
”Yeah yeah, you'll string me up by my innards or something equally boring. Just gimme a moment to get a hold o' this and I'm fit to get goin' again.”  
”Oh no,” Torunn chuckled. ”Not tonight. Get some rest; you are of no use to us exhausted and delirious from pain.” Any further protests on Graznikh's part were ignored and Berhanu even had the nerve to lock the door after giving him the painkillers and his dinner. Having no other choice, he decided to make the most of it and went to sleep.

  
”Wait. Wait!”  
”I do not wish to speak of it.”  
”But-”  
”No!” Záhovar spun around and Praktash stopped short behind her. ”Let it go,” she hissed. ”I will hear no more of your 'advice' on this matter! You have done enough as it is.”  
”This isn't my fault!”  
”Then _leave it._ You cannot mend this. When we return to Lugburz I will take measures, but you will not distract me from the task at hand again, or so help me Darkness you will face the consequences!”  
Praktash took a step back. ”Alright,” he whispered. ”Fine. Sorry.” He left the High Officer's side and sunk down by the fire next to Margzat with a groan.  
”Beat it, snaga,” Ghrazagh growled from the other side of the fire.  
”Beg me for it,” Praktash mumbled from within his hands.  
”Rough day?” Margzat asked.  
”What's he got to complain 'bout?” Golnauk grunted. ”We've cleaned the last three camps with next to no losses.”  
”Yeah, I'm bloody bored,” Praktash said while rolling his eyes. ”Can't one of ya get chopped to pieces so I get something to do?”  
”Take Mûrna, that'd be a real challenge,” Lîrnash snickered. ”His face looks like his arse, how ya gonna tell the two apart?”  
”I'd worry more if it was you,” Mûrnaluzh sneered. ”Your face looks like your face.”  
Despite everything, Praktash couldn't help but laugh at that. ”I'll leave that decision to you. Nar,” he declined as Margzat tried to hand him a bowl. ”I'mma get some sleep while I still can.” He tried to get up but Margzat grabbed his loincloth and pulled him back down.  
”You will eat,” the krîtar growled with an assertive leer, ”or I'll _make_ ya eat!”  
Praktash tried to protest but Margzat was adamant. ”You'll eat, chew an' tell me what you thought o' the seasonin' afore I let ya go,” he grunted and pushed the bowl into Praktash's lap.  
”Why don'tcha bitch like this at the others? I'm not your bloody snaga!”  
”'S none of yer business what I do or don't do with the others. Now chow it!”  
Praktash tried to look grumpy as he ate, but Margzat kept watching him with the same calm, assertive smile that Graznikh so often used to have and that turned his insides all a-flutter. Mûrnaluzh looked away with a disgusted scowl and a mutter about them "bein' bloody cute with each other".

Meanwhile, Záhovar walked through the camp while pretending to inspect the doings of its inhabitants. The camp was divided into two groups; the Orcs and Uruks, who in turn were split in two, and the caravanners and Danyal's warriors who stayed together as one. While the Orc camp was haphazard and random, the Mannish camp was well-organised with tents in straight lines and pickets for the war horses and the mules that pulled the wagons. But despite the stark contrast between the two, she knew which part would be the fastest to pick up and leave or respond to a threat. For all their organisation, Men were not natural born killers. For a brief moment she could hear Graznikh's voice in her head, what comments he would have made about it all had he been there next to her. Had he been himself.  
She quickly pushed the thought away. There was no getting distracted now, she could not afford it. For all his well-meaning, Praktash caused more harm than healing at this stage. Záhovar frowned slightly as she pondered the change that had come over the Uruk of late. Despite their deal when he became her Lug-snaga, Praktash had until recently been mostly antagonistic towards her. He had obeyed direct commands, but had on more than one occasion twisted and turned her words so that he failed her on purpose and had been almost overprotective of Graznikh. He had never treated her as a High Officer but as an equal, which was refreshing at times and exceedingly enervating at others. The only times he had openly defended her were when losing her would harm him and his 'buddy'; he had had no true care for her fate. But lately, the green-eyed Uruk's demeanor toward her had changed. Perhaps it was the more openhearted talks they had had during their first and possibly only time alone together, where they had been able to find some common ground, albeit a fragile one. Or perhaps it was her revelation of the fact that she depended on him and needed him far more than he did her.  
Showing such weakness to an inferior had been a dangerous gamble, but so far it seemed to have done mostly good. She needed Praktash's full obedience for what she planned after they were done dealing with the rebels. In truth, she needed both her snaga and possibly others as well. Graznikh's falling-out was dangerous. She meant to make good on her promise to Kaelun, but doubted that the witch would let him go without a fight. Facing Gîrakûn openly would be a suicide mission at best; her actions the last time Záhovar stayed in Blog Shakâmb proved that. Using deception would be equally dangerous, but with a slightly higher chance of success. Praktash would no doubt hate her for what she would ask him to do, but perhaps he would do it if she told him why. If she could make him certain that she would not abandon him. But first, there were rebels to hunt.

The first attack on the caravan had come a week after they left the trade stop. Margzat, eight of the Uruks and twenty of Danyal's men had been positioned to guard the caravan itself while Sulmurz, Kraash, Ghakû and Mikbork split up on each side to sniff for ambushes. Five of Danyal's men had been placed on each side as well to range further out in search of enemy scouts. Záhovar herself, Praktash, Golnauk, Danyal and the rest of the mounted warriors remained behind, well out of sight but within hearing range. Every group had been given a horn to be able to call for reinforcements whenever needed.  
Danyal's men had engaged the first enemies; two scouts no doubt sent to watch the road before it passed a series of high cliffs, a perfect spot for an ambush. Neither got away and the ambush at the cliffs had been easily dispatched with no losses and only minor injuries. The second attack had been more serious; One of the Uruks and four of the Men had fallen, pierced by enemy arrows. But they had managed to take two prisoners who revealed the position of the base camp during the subsequent torture. Most of the men had kept their distance during the event and Danyal had looked slightly ill afterwards for some reason. But the information was accurate and with so many warriors, the attack on the enemy camp the next day had been a breeze, despite the Orcs complaining about the Sun, the heat, the rocks, the wind and pretty much everything else that was possible to complain about. The Uruks had done the same, but quietly enough not to bother her.

She stopped at the edge of camp. The sun had long since set and stars twinkled far above, but there was no Moon for which she was grateful. A faint sound to her left alerted her to the position of one of the watchposts, and she let go of a little of her tension as a pair of familiar orangey eyes looked at her from the shadows. Sulmurz fidgeted a little and bowed his head as she approached and stopped beside him. Záhovar remained silent just long enough for him to get seriously nervous before speaking.  
”Where do you come from?”  
Sulmurz looked up briefly. ”Uh... Out East.”  
”The Desolation?”  
”Nar, further away.”  
”Did Graznikh lie to me then?”  
Sulmurz frowned. ”Whu..? Nar, nar he didn't. I stayed in th' Desolation for a good long while afore I came to Lugburz. But then... Well, Uruks happened. Ya know how it is. Wasn't much left after that, so I went inwards.”  
Záhovar nodded slightly. ”Did you know Ghakû before you came here?”  
”Nar, bumped into him an' Kraash in Morigost. We were a team, sort of. Or as much a team as anyone can be with Kraash. Bit crazy, that one.” He grinned a little, but it disappeared as he caught Záhovar's blatant lack of amusement. ”N-not that that's a bad thing,” he muttered meekly.  
”No?” She smirked as she studied the surrounding cliffs. Sulmurz watched her from the corner of his eye and gathered his courage.  
”So... How's the hand?”  
”As good as new.”  
”Oh,” he said. ”Good. That's... good.” He looked down briefly. ”And the toe?”  
Záhovar's blank stare made him stutter and fall silent. She carefully kept herself from smiling as she heard him mutter ”stupid, stupid, stupid” under his breath.  
”What are the sentiments in your group, drartul? Do they think me a weak leader?”  
Sulmurz looked up. ”Nar! No one does, or dare to. If they do, me an' my whip'll take it up with them if they dare do anything but obey. Don'tcha worry, I'll keep 'em in proper check.”  
She gave him an appreciative smile that made him grateful that he was already sitting down.  
”Where in the East does one learn to use a whip like that?” she asked.  
”Picked it up when I got to Lugburz,” Sulmurz replied with a lopsided grin. ”I'm a natural.”  
She smirked a little. ”I seem to have heard that you need to use it a lot.”  
”Well, some people just don't know when to quit. Like Kraash. But he just pops back up like it never happened.”  
”Have you ever considered a different approach?”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”Well, if I could string people's brains up in ropes o' shadow I might not need a whip. But I can't, so... Gotta work with what I've got.”  
”A wise sentiment.”  
He chuckled a little, not knowing what to do with this sudden praise. ”I get by.”  
Záhovar looked at him, and now there was a strangely alluring flicker in her eyes. ”So you are content? There is nothing you... want?”  
Sulmurz swallowed and he could feel his cheeks heat up a little. _Hooo skai. This is it!_ He quickly adopted his most sultry leer. ”Well... I want what Graznikh has. Had. Has...” He grimaced a little.  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Do you envy him?”  
”Yeah... and no. I don't wanna push him off a ledge or anything, I don't mind sharin'. I just wanna little piece for myself.”  
The flicker in her eyes seemed to freeze over. ”A piece of _what?_ ”  
Sulmurz's eyes widened as he realised what he had just said and began stuttering incoherently. Záhovar turned to watch the darkness again, hiding her satisfaction. In the East, a faint shift near the horizon spoke of the approaching dawn.  
”Were you not to be relieved?”  
”Gh-Ghakû was to do that,” Sulmurz replied once he found his tongue again. ”Probably heard us talk an' didn't wanna interrupt.”  
”Not that you have done much watching.”  
”Been watchin' you. Oh, for fuck's _sake!_ ” he exclaimed and slapped himself so hard that he toppled over. Záhovar watched him squirm and groan on the ground with an amused little smile.  
”There is not much point to your missteps if you punish yourself for them before I can do it, is there?”  
”S-sorry...”  
She smiled as she turned to leave. ”Do get some rest, drartul. You will need it.”  
Sulmurz opened his mouth to ask if she needed a bedwarmer, but she had already left. _As if she'd need that,_ he thought with a grin to himself. _Hot thing like that._

Sulmurz remained at his post a little longer before leaving it to wake up Ghakû. As he passed the High Officer's tent, he thought he heard a little whimper from inside. He quickly counted the Orcs and Uruks in the camp. _That_ Uruk was asleep in the krîtar's tent, the owner of it sat by the fire, Ghakû was asleep, Kraash was asleep... After making sure that all the others were in the right place and waking Ghakû up with a kick, Sulmurz turned to the tent. Now he was sure of what he heard, and it was followed by a quiet curse. After hesitating a little and gathering his courage, he tapped the tent cloth with his claws. An exasperated sigh was heard before Záhovar asked who it was and what they wanted.  
”Just me,” Sulmurz replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. ”I just, uh... Heard something an' I thought... Well, just wonderin' if everything's okay.”  
”No, it is not,” she snapped in reply. Then she continued, a little softer, ”but it is not your fault. Was that all?”  
”D-d'ya need any help?”  
”I doubt that this is a problem you can solve.”  
”Might be surprised,” Sulmurz murmured and turned to leave.  
”Enter.”  
He quickly turned back to the tent while mouthing ”yes!!” to himself. As he entered the tent, he saw what had caused the strange sounds; Záhovar was picking at a rather large tangle that had previously been hidden by the rest of her hair.  
”Graznikh used to comb my hair,” she explained, ”so I never learned. But now he is gone, and...” She motioned with her hand at the tangle and let out an exasperated sigh. "I have no comb."  
”I could give it a try,” Sulmurz offered while hoping that he didn't sound too eager. Záhovar arched an eyebrow and gave his clawed hands a sceptical look. ”I know how to use 'em,” he added and lifted one, wiggling the fingers at her. Eventually she nodded and beckoned for him to sit at the edge of the bedroll. Sulmurz scurried over and gingerly took her hiplength hair in his hands. After accidentally snagging his claws on smaller tangles a few times and squeaking apologies, he grew more careful. Záhovar eventually closed her eyes and sat in silence as he detangled her hair with the very tips of his claws. He worked slowly, both out of care but also to draw the moment out because he didn't want it to end. _Graznikh's right. It does feel kinda like spiderwebs, only without the sticky bits._ Before he knew it his brain had jumped to the topic of another kind of 'sticky bits' and the horny purr left his throat before he could stop it.  
Záhovar turned ever so slowly to look at him, her face and eyes devoid of all emotion. Sulmurz had not been so scared since the last time she gave him that look but could not look away; her eyes held him fast.  
”Finish.” The word was spoken with a voice that was like a slow stab through the heart with a dagger made of ice. Sulmurz combed out the last tangles with shaking hands, then he divided her hair in three with his claws. Záhovar sat still while he worked, but a small frown creased her forehead. When he was done, she felt the back of her head and looked at him.  
”What have you done?”  
”B-braided it.” He swallowed hard as she pulled the crude braid over her shoulder and looked at it. ”I thought... S-since ya d-didn't want tangles, I... It'll keep in place better this way. Won't get caught on stuff, y'know. I c-can take it out again, if-if-if ya don't... like... it...”  
”Leave it.”  
Sulmurz barely dared to breathe as soft, warm fingertips trailed his jawline. Unconsciously he lifted his chin and exposed his throat to the hand that slowly grabbed it and squeezed gently. He felt both high and low at the same time; as if he was weightless, floating, carefree. She could squeeze all she liked, bury her little nails in his neck, tear a bloody, jagged hole in his throat if she wanted. He could not, would not stop her. _I'm yours.  
_ Záhovar eventually let go. Sulmurz meekly met her gaze and immediately drowned in those calm, dominant eyes. _I'm yours.  
_ ”Leave,” she commanded softly. He obeyed; how could he not? As the surprisingly cold night air hit him outside, the event inside the tent suddenly felt unreal. Sulmurz slowly walked over to his bedroll and slumped down on it with a dazed expression.  
”Ya look like ya got kicked in the head by a horse,” Kraash commented. ”What, southron mare didn't want what ya offered her?”  
Sulmurz was not in the mood to banter with the idiot who was currently cackling at his own joke loudly enough to make the Uruks growl at him to shut up. He simply laid down without replying and turned his back on the world. _What... The fuck... Just happened there?_

  
Once he was well enough, Graznikh worked hard in the smithy, repairing tools and making nails, hinges and other things the monks needed. Not that they gave him much choice; it was that or starve. _I can't fuckin' believe I'm doing this. I should be out there huntin' those insubordinate bastard tarks down, not play snaga in a bloody monastery!_ But it was good exercise and shifting the hammer between each hand meant that he trained them equally. It made him stiff and sore, but nightly flexing and stretching helped alleviate that. Whenever the opportunity arose, he pieced together the bits and pieces of metal that Akûl brought him from the settlement. He didn't know how the warg managed to sneak in without being spotted, but he wasn't going to ask. Akûl turned out to have a much keener sense of smell than Zuzar had had; he could even tell the difference between iron and steel and brought him a good deal of the latter at his request. Soon Graznikh held two strong steel limbs in his hand and tried to piece the bow together. The monks did not care what he did in his spare time so long as he did not destroy anything, so he had free access to the smithy at night and could experiment with the length and thickness of the limbs until he had a bow that was both flexible and strong. He also had to cook his meat there; Torunn had given him an earful when he did so on one of the braziers in the hall of worship, and he wasn't in the mood for more of the same.  
He had no sinew for a string, but his own hair turned out to be a decent substitute. The finished bow reached from the fingertips on one arm to the opposite shoulder; much smaller than what he was used to.  
”Don't suppose ya dug up some arrows while you were at it?” he asked Akûl, but the warg had found none. ”Hnh, never mind it. I'll just pick some off the first archer's corpse we make.”  
He doubted that the monks would let him go without a fight. They seemed a little too enthusiastic about the whole snaga deal and he didn't trust their change of opinion of him, no matter if it was Záhovar's doing or not. Akûl came and went as he pleased on his hunting trips, so smuggling whatever rations and other things he could steal from the monks turned out to be easily done. Most of them steered clear of the warg, thinking him nothing but a mindless beast.  
  
Once Graznikh judged that his squirreled-away stash was sizable enough to last him a while, he prepared to scram. Berhanu had locked the door again but he managed to pick the simple lock with some bones he had saved for that purpose. The night services had ended and the temple was dark and silent as he scurried along the empty corridors on bare feet. The Moon was nearly full, but Graznikh's pale skin helped him blend in with the dappled shadows in the garden as he crouched on the low wall before slipping down on the other side. Akûl was waiting for him and together they made their way into the wilderness.  
”Ah, there you are.”  
Graznikh jumped into the air and Akûl barked in surprise at the unexpected voice. Both spun to face Berhanu, who was casually leaning against a tall stone some paces away.  
”How in the everloving _fuck_ did you know I was comin' this way?!”  
”Divine providence,” Berhanu replied with a lopsided smile. ”Torunn thought you might want a little something extra for all your hard work.”  
Graznikh gave the package a suspicious look. ”What izzit?”  
”Just some rations, extra water, and the 'extra' I mentioned.”  
”How do I know it's not poisoned?”  
”Because your master told us not to kill you.” Berhanu spoke to him as one speaks to a stubborn child. ”We serve her, remember?”  
”Yeah, 'cause that sure has kept folks from trying before.” Even so, he reluctantly reached out and took the package. The 'extra' turned out to be six little bottles containing some kind of strong-smelling liquid. A small white wick was stuck in the neck of each and they were sealed with wax.  
”Be very careful with those,” Berhanu instructed. ”And do not leave them near fire; they're highly flammable. When you wish to use them, simply light the wick on fire and throw it at your target, or throw it into or through a nearby fire. It will work, so long as the wick is lit and the bottle breaks.”  
”But what do they do?”  
Berhanu smiled again. ”You will see when you use them. Oh, and don't stand anywhere near where they land. A thick stone wall between you and the target is preferable.”  
Graznikh frowned in confusion as he stuffed the little flasks into his belt pockets and put the rest into the saddle bags. Berhanu's words did not make much sense, but then they rarely did. As he turned to say something that might pass as 'farewell', he found that the healer had already disappeared, and without neither sound nor scent to tell that he had ever been there. _Bloody creepy monks..._

The warg and its rider travelled at speed down to the road, crossing it and passing south into the wilderness beyond. Even wagons could travel far in two weeks, and he had to hurry if he was to catch up with them. The area close to the Outer Fence was hilly and dry; there were few water holes between the trade stop and the Sea. They continued southwest and as dawn came, Graznikh and Akûl stared out across a Sea of an entirely different kind. From what he could remember of the maps he had seen, the road followed the foothills of the Outer Fence until it reached a river, which it followed first south and then west again until it reached a ford. The southern border of the map had been empty, but he had not thought to ask what lay beyond. Now he understood why. _That's a bloody lot of sand.  
_ They made camp for the day in the shelter of a hollow river bank, long dried out and only filled during the short rainy season. Even in the shade the heat was stifling but Graznikh managed to get some sleep. In the evening they set out again, following the border between sand and craggy hills. Despite the dry heat the land was not dead. Graznikh spotted the same kind of small deerlike creatures that he had seen when travelling from Khand.  
Graznikh barely waited until the sun had set properly before setting out again. As the Moon rose above the desert they reached an area where the dunes had covered much of the hills, creating mountains of sand. Instead of taking a detour all the way around them, Graznikh decided to try to pass them. _Those dunes're huge; we'd get a really good view from up there._ As they reached the top of the dune, they spotted a rider on horseback in the distance. The rider seemed to have spotted them in turn, for they spurred their horse into a canter in their direction. Graznikh had Akûl turn and lope away at such a pace as to let the rider slowly catch up with them. Graznikh grinned as the rider took the bait. _That one clearly hasn't fought a warg rider before.  
_ They began to weave back and forth across the top of the dune in an irregular pattern, making themselves a difficult target for arrows. Where the dune formed a steeper edge they leapt off it with the rider hot on their tail. The warg spun to face the horse even as they slid down the steep slope, roaring a challenge. The horse reared to kick; it was enough to set it off balance and both rider and horse tumbled down to the hard salt-covered desert floor below.

As Graznikh and Akûl reached the bottom, the panicking horse had rolled over its rider's legs in its desperate attempts to get up. Graznikh dismounted and let the warg deal with the animal; he had better prey in sight. The man crawled backwards as he approached, having seemingly lost the use of his legs after the fall. He looked young; not over 20 winters, Graznikh guessed. He took a moment to savour his terrified face. He knew full well what he must look like to this boy; a corpselike, alien monster, a ghost on the moonlit dunes with sharp teeth and inhuman, burning red eyes. The sounds of the dying horse being devoured alive no doubt added to the dread.  
”This sure didn't go as planned, eh?” he said softly. ”For you, I mean. I myself didn't really plan on a different outcome.” He chuckled as the man spat a terrified curse at him. ”If ya say so. Your folks can't have liked ya much if they sent you out here like this. Stupid, brash young cub.” He sat down beside him. ”Y'know, I used to be like you. Young an' foolish, thought I was immortal an' could take on the world. Only difference is, I survived. You won't.”  
”Mercy,” came the desperate whisper through gritted teeth. ”I don't want to die!”  
”Nobody does,” Graznikh replied with a scowl. ”Not for real. Doesn't matter much once the end comes.” He grinned as he pulled one of his blades. ”I've heard it said that when ya stare into the eyes o' death, you regret the stuff ya didn't do more'n that what ya did. 'S that true? You tell me.”  
As he slowly pushed the knife into the hollow behind the man's collarbone, he realised that he hadn't killed anyone in quite a while. Dark satisfaction bubbled up inside him with the man's dying gurgle, black, oily and sickly sweet.  
  
”Y'know, I've noticed a funny thing,” Graznikh told Akûl later as they gorged on horse and Man. ”The longer I stay away from her, the clearer my head feels. I miss her somethin' awful right now, but whenever I'm near her it's like I go crazy with hate. Like it's radiating from her somehow.” Akûl, warg that he was, could not comprehend such complex topics, but it felt good to just talk to someone whom he knew he could trust.  
”Maybe it'd be smarter to go on like we do now. We could give 'em a hand and paw on our own, whittle the numbers down a little whenever those southrons're stupid enough to split from the group.” The more he thought it over, the better a plan he found it. _I can't think when I'm near her, so better to stay away. Sulmurz'n Praktash're doing a good job, I'm sure o' it. I've fucked up enough, I gotta get back in her good graces somehow. If I sort things out for her, maybe she'll forgive me for bein' such a jerk.  
_ ”I used to travel just like this with your sire,” he told Akûl another morning as they settled down in the shade of a tall boulder.  
The warg perked up. ”Zuzar?”  
”That's right. Did your mummy ever tell ya 'bout that?”  
”Narrr.”  
”Right... T'was his last journey, far to the East. Záhovar sent us off 'cause she had stuff to do where we couldn't follow, so off we went. On the road, we found this weird creepy critter; looked a bit like a pig, sounded like one too, but with sharp spikes the length o' my lower arm on its back! Can ya believe that? 'Course, yer sire, brave as he was, just had to stick his nose into the burrow an' got his snout peppered with 'em. But I got them out an' we killed the beast. Made for real good eating, it did. But keep that in mind if ya come across one o' those; stay away from the hind end. That's where the stings come from. Go for the front or even better, try to topple it. They're defenseless when on their back.”  
Akûl nodded, then he looked as thoughtful as a warg could get. ”Ûrg matan luzh?”  
”Shara,” Graznikh growled. ”Same folks as those riders back at the temple. Yeah, I saw them. Managed to get a peek at their leader when he came to speak with Záhovar. I don't think it's the same folks though, we killed 'em to the last...” He trailed off and looked up from the fire and into Akûl's red glowing eyes. Dread filled his heart as he began to piece things together. ”Skai! Those bastards had the same gear, same cut to their clothing... Same as the leader o' that mob what tried to kill me in Khand and woulda bloody succeeded if the Lion hadn't come inbetween. How the fuck did I miss that? Skai fachthal, an' Záhovar's walking 'round in the middle of them! _Skai!!_ ”  
He wanted so badly to rush ahead, to hurry back to her as fast as possible, but the sun was high in the sky. There was nothing to do but wait until nightfall. His worry and fear kept him from sleeping; whenever he closed his eyes, the sensation of the bond breaking that he had experienced the moment he lost Whindaër kept haunting him and jerked him awake over and over. _I can't lose her. I_ can't _lose her! Sulmurz, Praktash, I bloody hope you're doing your jobs!_  
  
A lone warg rider travelled faster than a full caravan of wagons and people. Graznikh risked passing the road every now and then and soon they began to see the remains of the earlier battles, including the head of the fallen Uruk. Graznikh didn't know his name; he hadn't bothered to learn the name of every member of the uzhâk, seeing as they rarely spoke with 'snagas'. _Not long now. A week, at most.  
_ They ran at night, using the cover of darkness to find and clear out every enemy party they could find, relying on their flesh, blood and water to get by. Lone warriors or pairs were also targets, but no larger groups than that. But a man who went too far beyond the firelight for a piss on moonless nights died without a sound, throat slit or pierced by an arrow.  
When he finally caught up with the caravan, he kept his distance. The unreasonable rage he felt whenever he was close had died down almost entirely and he did not want that to change. He let himself be seen occasionally and used the shifting dunes and nearby hills to his advantage as he and Akûl followed them and picked off every shara they could find, keeping a secure distance from the other Orcs and their superior senses. Although the sand covered all tracks in the desert, scents were easier to follow and the smell of the wind helped them navigate the unmappable landscape. The longer they carried on, the more twitchy the Men in the caravan seemed to become. _Good,_ Graznikh thought with dark satisfaction. _We've got 'em watchin' over their shoulders now._

 

Záhovar looked up as Danyal walked into the Orc side of camp with a grim expression.  
”Report.”  
”Another three dead, throats slit. Two more shot with arrows that were no longer there when they were found. And as many scouts gone without a trace.”  
”Desertions?” Záhovar asked.  
”My men do not desert!” Danyal snapped before he regained control of his temper.  
”Watch it,” Sulmurz growled. ”'At's a High Officer ye're speakin' to!”  
”My apologies for my temper,” Danyal said to Záhovar while ignoring Sulmurz. ”But I must confess; I am at a loss as to what to do. What creature could move at night, firing a bow with such accuracy and skill or move close enough to slit a man's throat without him hearing it coming?”  
Sulmurz coughed a little at that and waved his hand when Záhovar glanced at him.  
”Are you claiming that you are responsible for this?” Záhovar asked him with a half-smile.  
”What? Nar!” Sulmurz replied with a squeak. ”Could be an Orc, though. If they move in the dark, I mean.”  
”One single Orc?” Danyal scoffed a little. ”You lot have not impressed so far.”  
”Ya haven't seen us fight at night so far,” Sulmurz snarled back.  
”What kind of fight would it be when your opponent can barely see you?”  
”The good kind,” Sulmurz leered. ”A bloody slaughter, entrails flyin'.”  
”Enough,” Záhovar said. ”There will be night battles where you can prove your mettle, drartul. But for the moment there are more pressing matters that requires our attention.”  
Danyal nodded. ”Some of the men claim to have seen the attacker, or what they say is the attacker. Some say it is a wolf, larger and more beastly than any they have seen. Others say it is a man. And yet others claim that it is nothing but a black shape with devilish eyes, mingling with the shadows and vanishing in thin air whenever someone tries to follow.”  
Sulmurz snorted. ”Put one o' us at th' post an' we'll sniff 'em out, sure as nightfall.”  
”If you do not drop your foolish rivalry right this moment you _will_ be taking that post,” Záhovar snapped, ”for the remainder of the journey!”  
Sulmurz quickly took a step back. ”Sorry! Didn't mean to... sorry!”  
She sighed. ” _Has_ anyone tried to follow it?”  
Danyal looked down with an almost embarrassed scowl and shook his head. ”None have dared. Some of the caravanners say it is a wraith, come to steal our souls.”  
”That is ridiculous.”  
”I said as much, but... superstitions can be hard to dispel.”  
”Then _I_ will dispel them!” Záhovar said as she stood. ”After all,” she added with a smug little smile in Sulmurz's direction, ”I _am_ the shadows.” Danyal gave the furiously blushing Sulmurz a confused look.  
  
”Wait,” Praktash said softly as he came closer. ”Let me have a look instead.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”I cannot let you risk yourself. You are too valuable.”  
”Glad ya feel that way,” he purred and licked the corner of his lips in a jokingly seductive manner. ”But you're even more so. 'Sides, that thing ya did with my eyes back in the settlement, does that still work?”  
”I am not sure. Tell me if you see this.” She reached for the Wraithworld and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees around them. Sulmurz and Praktash both breathed a sigh of relief as the heat abated, but Danyal took a step back with an utterly terrified look in his eyes. Praktash smiled as the strange Unlight began to dapple her being.  
”Yeah, I see it.” The heat returned with a rush, filling the space where it had previously been pushed away. ”So if this attacker is a wraith, I guess I'd be able to see it, right?”  
Záhovar nodded.  
”But what'll ya do when ya find it?” Margzat commented from where he sat by the fire.  
”Probably wail like a frightened warg pup an' hide behind Záhovar,” Praktash replied with a grin. ”Sorry, _lord_ Záhovar.”  
”Yeah, that's Uruk bravery for ya,” Sulmurz sneered.  
”Sure is,” Praktash leered back. ”Whaddya say Sully, wanna come with me? I'm sure you'd stand fast no matter what comes at ya.”  
”You're bloody right I... _Sully?!_ ”  
The camp erupted with laughter. Záhovar turned away while biting her lip. The only ones not amused were Danyal, who watched the Orcs with a deepening frown, and Sulmurz who looked like he couldn't decide whether he should kill Praktash or himself first.  
”Well, what else would I call ya?” Praktash said with a happy grin. ”I mean, 'Muzzy' sounds like somethin' I'd moan in your ear in the middle of a fuck. 'Sully's more... dangerous, corrupted, but not as opashy as 'the defiler'. Or maybe ya like that? Hey, krîtar! Think I should call him that? 'Sulmurz the Defiler'?”  
Margzat had regained control o himself and opened his mouth to say something, but when he heard Praktash's last words he broke down again.  
”Things seem to be under... something,” Danyal said with a scowl of discomfort. ”If you will excuse me?”  
”Of course,” Záhovar replied with a little smile. Praktash couldn't resist giving the Man a wink and a dirty grin as he left.  
”You...” Sulmurz hissed. ”You... Fucking... Pushdug kûrr-karkû!!”  
”Don't be such a ball, Sully,” Praktash purred as he crouched before him and licked his fangs. ”Come at me, we could have a nice little tumble right here. You know you want to.”  
”You will not,” Záhovar said. ”You will not!” she repeated with emphasis as Sulmurz began to advance with a furious growl. ”Drugdealer, I believe you have a job to do. Get it done! I will have no more antics from either of you tonight!”

Praktash stood. ”Guess the party's over,” he told Sulmurz. ”Don'tcha worry milord, I'll track your wraith down for ya.” The last thing he saw before he left was Záhovar's confused frown and he couldn't help but grin.  
The Orcs were not strictly forbidden to enter the Mannish side of camp, but neither were they welcome and the Men made sure to let them know. As the Uruk healer marched toward Danyal's tent, four of them got in his way.  
”State your business.”  
”Just lookin' for your glorious leader,” Praktash answered with a disarming smile. ”I gotta know where the last dead guy was found.”  
One of the men pointed. ”Out there. Now leave.”  
”Thanks,” Praktash said indifferently and took a step forward.  
”You will go around.”  
”Oh, come on! I'm just passin' through!”  
”You will go _around._ ” The Man was a little taller than him and about as muscular. He had a scimitar at his belt, whereas Praktash was unarmed. Even so, he returned the man's challenging stare and sized him up a little before stepping back.  
”Fine,” he murmured. ”I'd love to tumble with ya, but my master says otherwise.” Then he turned, but not after snapping his fangs in the Man's face, making him take an involuntary step back.  
As he walked around the outside of the camp, he hoped that his guess was right. He knew only one Orc who could move as described. Red eyes of various hues were common among Orcs, but he knew only one with eyes the colour of freshly spilled Man-blood, glowing so red as to be called 'devilish'.  
The Men had moved the dead guard from where they found him, placing him instead upon a high knoll atop a nearby ridge. Apparently it was a Mannish thing; leave the dead in the open for the birds, that they may return to the sky that was their mother. Praktash shook his head. _Bloody waste. Why not just eat them?_ He searched the area and soon picked up a familiar scent, almost too faint to notice. He could have brought Mikbork for this; the snuffler would have recognised this particular scent with ease and no doubt spotted the prey much faster than him too, but he wanted to be alone if he found what he searched for. Slowly and warily he crept up onto the knoll to get a better view. Once night had fallen, the temperature had dropped enough to form dew that turned to mist when it hit the hot sand, turning the desert into a strange, bluish dreamscape. The moonlit wasteland on the other side of the ridge was seemingly empty, but he felt watched. The 'wraith' had only ever attacked Men and made no difference between the enemy and those who followed Záhovar. None of the Orcs had ever seen or heard anything, which told him that this was one who knew Orcs well enough to be one.  
The only thing that spoke against his suspicions was that Záhovar hadn't sensed anything. _But then I never asked. Maybe she didn't think to check; I don't know how that bond of theirs works._ After pretending to scan the horizon for a while he continued down onto the plain. There was a small dune stretching out to his left into the mist. As he reached the top, he realised too late that what had looked small was in fact the edge of an abyssal cliff where the sand fell down like a waterfall. Praktash howled as he lost his footing and slid off the edge into the darkness below.  
  
When he woke up, he was half-covered in sand. The fall was not as high as it looked; the sand had already piled halfway up along the walls of the sinkhole. But he barely dared to move. There was water in the middle of the hole and Danyal had warned them all of something the Southrons called 'quicksand'; sand that acted like loose mud, sucking men and horses down and swallowing them whole. _I wonder if this is where those lost scouts ended up,_ he thought as he looked at the lethal pond. Then he began looking for a way out.  
The sides of the sinkhole were smooth and would be impossible for him to scale since he had no claws. He saw no caves or other openings in the walls either. _I wonder if I could just wait for the sand to fill it? But that'd take ages. An' I can't call for help either; it'd be no use if half the caravan ended up down here._ Praktash began to feel a little frightened and turned his head to look in the other direction, only to find himself staring into Akûl's red eyes. Before he could scream, a hand landed over his mouth and he was yanked backwards. The next moment he was lying on his back with Graznikh's loving eyes filling his vision and his chest.  
Both Orc and Uruk remained on the sand for a while, rubbing noses and making little happy purrs.  
”So now you're fine with letting a snaga top ya, eh?” Graznikh whispered teasingly.  
”This one,” Praktash whispered back and grabbed his arse. ”Anytime, anywhere.” Graznikh growled and replied by grinding his hips against Praktash's, making him moan softly.  
”Skai, I've missed ya!”  
”Mmmhm,” Praktash purred and ran his nose up along Graznikh's ear. Then he pulled back a little. ”How'd ya get here?”  
”Same way as you,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Only I didn't fall flat on my arse on the way down.”  
”But... How'll we get back up?”  
The berserker got up and dusted the sand off his knees. ”C'mon, I'll show ya.”  
They followed the wall to the left until a wide, jagged crack half filled with sand was revealed. Akûl went up first, climbing with ease thanks to his thumbed paws.  
”Think you can make it?” Graznikh asked.  
”Yeah, I didn't hit my head that hard.”

Once they were safely back on the surface, Graznikh sat down and shared some water and meat.  
”Horse?” Praktash asked after a mouthful.  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I like horse.” He watched Praktash eat for a while. ”So how's everyone doin' back there?”  
”We're bloody bored! The attacks on the caravan have stopped; I think they know what we're up to now. The riders gets all the fun nowadays, we just sit there twiddlin' with our dicks. Not much else to do.”  
Graznikh snickered. ”Guess I've done my fair share of it too.”  
”Yeah, about that... Could you stop killin' _our_ riders? I know they're spoilsports, but we kinda need 'em for when we reach the stronghold.”  
”Nar, I won't,” Graznikh growled at the surprised and confused Praktash.  
”Buddy..?” He fell silent as Graznikh explained his theory. ”But... They've been helpin' us.”  
”Just like me and Sulmurz planned on doin' with the enemy if plans hadn't changed,” Graznikh said.  
”You can't've gotten that good a look at them back at the temple. You sure they're the same?”  
”I've had more'n a good look as I've been killing them for a week. I know what I'm talking about! An' why're you out here by the way, shouldn't ya be next to her, protecting her?”  
”Sulmurz is doin' that,” Praktash replied defensively. ”As are all the others. 'Sides, I wouldn't make much of a difference if they decide to go rogue; they're kinda many.”  
”It's one more to kill before they get to her,” Graznikh growled. Then he shook his head. ”Nevermind. How many are they?”  
Praktash thought for a moment. ”Seventy when we started. After that they've lost 'bout fifteen to the enemy an' as many to you. We lost one. That makes...”  
”Forty.” Graznikh scowled. ”Forty 'gainst fourteen.”  
”Fifteen with Záhovar. No wait, make that twenty. Shes a bloody army all by herself.” Praktash grinned but stopped when Graznikh didn't return it. ”Look, this isn't my fault! Don't look at me like that... Please..?”  
After a moment, Graznikh gave him a brief grin. ”Don't worry buddy, I'm not upset with ya. Just a little tense, is all.”  
”Have you been restin' at all?” Praktash asked. ”Your ribs can't have healed that quickly.”  
”Nar, they still sting at times. But the monks were driving me crazy, I had to get away. Besides...” He grinned a little wider. ”It's been good to be alone for a while. Cleared my head.”  
”Does that mean you'll come back to us?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Nar. Look, I... I can't face her. Not yet, at any rate.”  
”Is this about what happened before we left?”  
He nodded.  
”Aaand you're not gonna tell me.”  
”I lost it. Couldn't control what I said one bit. I yelled at her, called her things, told her-” He broke off and pressed a fist to his mouth with an anguished scowl. ”I think... If I hadn't been so badly injured, I woulda tried to kill her.”  
”'S okay buddy, I'm here,” Praktash whispered. Graznikh leaned his head against his shoulder briefly.  
”I'm bloody scared I'll berserk the next time. I can't stand even the thought of hurting her in any way, yet when I'm near her I want to. And it's gettin' worse. Can't have that, so it's better that I stay away 'til I've figured this out. Don't tell anyone I'm out here. I guess she already knows, but don't tell anyone else.”  
”I don't think she does. She hasn't said anythin' about it an' she's as pissed over the losses as that Danyal fellow.”  
”Really?” Graznikh frowned. ”She always seem to know exactly where I am. Why not now?”  
”Maybe it's 'cause you don't wanna be found,” Praktash suggested.  
Graznikh shook his head. ”It can't be that bloody easy. She shuts me out whenever she wanna, but I can't hide.”  
”Have ya ever tried? Ever asked how she does it?”  
”Nar. Maybe it _is_ that easy.” He stood with a wince. ”Get back afore they come lookin'. Tell her what I've said 'bout the Southrons. Don't let 'em close. I'll stop killin' 'em if that's what'cha want, but I'll contact ya every now an' then, make sure things're fine an' let ya know if I find something. Forty's a big number, but if you say you can handle 'em...”  
”I think that if Danyal wanted us dead, he'd've tried somethin' earlier. But if you wanna have a little chat with him in private, we could always set somethin' up an' lure him out. Shouldn't be too hard; I got some drugs what'll make a guy real brainfoggy.”  
  
Graznikh leered. ”I'm glad you're on my side, buddy.”  
”I'm always on your side,” Praktash purred. ”Backside. Sometimes up front. An' sometimes...” He began to sink to his knees but Graznikh grabbed his arms and pulled him back up.  
”Fuck,” he growled.  
Praktash gave him a wide-eyed look. ”Now?” His breath hitched a little as Graznikh nodded. ”I'm not in the mood to top.”  
”Then I'll do it.”  
Praktash could hardly believe it. _I'm gettin' laid! An' I'm gettin' it from_ him _! Finally!_ Graznikh's purring chuckle filled his ears as he began tearing his armour off. After struggling a little as the shirt caught in his ear spikes, he rolled it up so that he would have something to bite into to muffle the ecstatic howling that he knew he would not be able to keep in. Graznikh removed his own at a more leisurely pace and purred as he admired his Uruk buddy's naked body.  
”Skai, krîtar's really done a number on ya! You've got some real pretty scars back there now.”  
”D'ya like them?” Praktash purred and arched his back to give him a better view. ”Maybe you should leave a few of your own.”  
”What, haven't had enough?”  
”Not from you,” Praktash gasped as he felt a clawed hand travel up his thigh. Graznikh chuckled.  
”So who's the better fuck? Made up your mind yet?”  
”You.”  
”Come on, big guy like that? At least I've heard some comments of that nature.”  
”Jealous, are ya?”  
”Curious.”  
”Alright then. Still you.”  
”Seriously?”  
”Oh, come on! I'm his first bottom; nobody else ever dared to take his cock before. He's a bloody beginner; it's his size that does it for me mostly. But _you_... You _know_ how to use your cock. And other things,” he added with a little moan. ”Keep doin' that... Ahh, skai!” Teeth, claws, tongue and fingers soon had the Uruk completely beside himself with want. Even the scent of his buddy's unwashed sweaty body, his horniness and of _him_ did their part in driving him crazy.  
”You're bloody easy to rile, ya know that?” Graznikh murmured against his neck.  
”It's all your fault! I couldn't bloody resist ya even if I tried... Not that I ever have.”  
”Good,” Graznikh purred. ”Ready?”  
Praktash let out a meek little whimper as he met Graznikh's eyes over his shoulder. ”I'm not gonna walk away from this, am I?”  
”Nope.”  
The Uruk's eyes widened and he bit down into his rolled-up shirt as his legs and buttocks got spread. Even so, he couldn't keep from grinning insanely as his buddy's needy growl mingled with his own. 'Sensory overload' was not a strong enough word to describe what followed.

When Praktash returned to camp some time later, he was wobbling a little with every step.  
”The fuck happened to ya?” Margzat rumbled as he noticed his badly scratched, sweat- and dirt-stained skin.  
”Sinkhole,” Praktash replied with a shrug, ignoring the krîtar's snort of disbelief. ”Big one, quicksand in the middle. I found the scouts, by the way. Or at least where I'd guess they've gone. Might wanna tell your folks to be careful,” he told Danyal.  
”What of the attacker?”  
”Not a trace. Maybe it's a wraith only softskins can see,” he added with a grin.  
”Well, you woulda been able to see it fine an' clear then,” Margzat chuckled.  
”Watch where you're stickin' that thing.”  
Sulmurz made a gagging noise and watched sourly as Praktash walked over to Záhovar, who sat cross-legged outside her tent.  
”Can we talk? Alone?”  
She nodded and led the way as they walked out of camp. Once they were outside hearing range, she stopped. ”What is it you wanted to tell me?”  
”I found him,” Praktash replied.  
Záhovar frowned. ”Who?”  
”Graznikh.”  
Her face fell. ”What is he doing _here_? He was too injured to walk when we left!”  
”That was weeks ago. He's obviously well enough to travel, seein' as he made it all the way here while killin' every two-legged creature inbetween.”  
”He is the one behind the killings and disappearances?” She cursed as Praktash nodded.  
”Wait! Listen to me! He's got a good reason for doin' what he does!”  
”And what 'reason' would that be?” Záhovar hissed. ”If not for him, we would have been able to take the enemy fortress with ease! Now I am not so sure of our chances. Pâlogh!”  
Praktash couldn't help but grin at the odd curse. ”The reason for him thinnin' their ranks is because Danyal's from the same tribe that tried to kill him twice,” he whispered intently. ”Same gear an' all. They really showed up at the right time, didn't they? Right when ya needed them. Graz doesn't think it was just a coincidence.”  
Záhovar looked sceptical. ”If that is the case, why would they help us? If they were working with the rebels-”  
”Doesn't have to be. The rebels could still be a rival group, right?”  
”So his madness has extended to this, has it?” Záhovar said quietly while folding her arms across her chest. ”He does not just want to kill me, but everyone else as well?”  
”He's not mad!” Praktash exclaimed. ”He's not,” he continued more quietly. ”This isn't normal, this anger of his. It only happens when he's near you. He was just fine when I met him now, an' he was too when I suggested you go to him back at the temple. I don't know what's goin' on, an' neither does he! But we figure it's better if he stays away 'til he gets a hold of himself again. Don'tcha agree?”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”How long has he felt like this?”  
”I don't know. He only told me about this now, but it coulda gone on for a while.”  
”And you say this only happens when he is near me?”  
When Praktash nodded, she frowned and fell silent.  
”So... You okay with him stayin' away? He'll contact me whenever he can, see what we're up to an' all that.”  
”Very well,” she said after a while. ”I wish him luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gur nartatikh Muzgûrgol – I do not leave Longrider  
> Lat nauz. Guri nauz. – You will be. We will be.  
> Ong-krimpat – lit. 'iron-bind', the act of smithing  
> Ushatâr - Warrior  
> Ûrg matan luzh? – How did he die?  
> Shara - Men not of Numenorean descent  
> Fachthal - butcher  
> Pushdug kûrr-karkû – stinking cock-slime (lit. 'slime-cock')  
> Pâlogh – bad (the Black Speech version of the Quenya curse 'faica'. Both are strongly inspired by a Swedish parody version of LotR where Aragorn tells Merry outside the gate of Moria that he is ”too bad to throw rocks”.)


	12. The Beginning Of Something Great

Three nights after Graznikh's return, Danyal's scouts reported having spotted a large rebel encampment in the foothills of the Outer Fence, near one of the bitter streams that joined the Harnen river further southwest. It was located in a steep valley where horses would be of little use, but Danyal assured Záhovar that his men were as well-aquainted with fighting on foot as they were on horseback.  
”Send the caravan back east,” Záhovar commanded. ”The ruse is over. It is time for true action.”  
  
There was a sense of anticipation in the air as they broke camp that evening. Danyal had sent some twenty riders out during the day to hunt down any lookouts that the enemy may have placed on the hills surrounding the mouth of the valley, but they would still travel under cover of night just to be sure. Kraash kept pacing back and forth, constantly whispering ”finally, _finally!_ ” and Ghakû watched him pace with a sly grin as he made last-minute checks of his weapons and armour. Sulmurz was lying on his bedroll, eyes closed but not asleep, tapping his foot restlessly. Mikbork was fletching new arrows. On the surface, the Uruks seemed much calmer; some were napping, others were chatting quietly or following Ghakû's example. Margzat was carefully hammering out little dents in his shield, throwing a glance every now and then at Praktash who had borrowed the kettle to make more healing salve which he was now pouring into the jars he had collected from the others.  
Praktash felt nervous. He had not been engaged in the fighting so far, positioned as he had been next to Záhovar; he had only taken care of the resulting wounds. This time he and Margzat would protect her in the middle of the battle.  
  
He grinned a little as he remembered the 'ceremony' he had helped her prepare and conduct two nights before. The superstitious Men had been frightened of the 'wraith' that had been preying upon them, but Záhovar's display had given them something else to fear. She had summoned a real wraith, so weak as to be entirely impotent, and then banished it back to the Unseen in a rather spectacular way, establishing herself as a 'necromancer'; a sorcerer who could summon and bind the souls of the Dead. The little wraith's shrieks had scared the seasoned warriors nearly witless.  
Afterwards, she had walked the perimeter of the camp and placed 'wards' that would keep unwelcome spirits at bay. They were nothing but little fancy sticks with the Great Eye crudely carved onto them, courtesy of Mikbork who had spent the better part of an evening on the task, but the Men were thoroughly convinced. Now Záhovar could not even come near the Mannish side of camp without a wave of bows and bended knees rolling through it. Praktash strongly suspected that if Graznikh's suspicions had been correct, all such plots had been thoroughly thwarted now. Danyal would be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to raise arms against the 'Necromancer'.  
Praktash and Margzat both bowed their heads as Záhovar came up to them. ”Is everything in order?”  
”Aye, Lug-durbatar,” Margzat replied. ”Uzhâk's ready an' willin' to serve.”  
She gave him a nod of approval. ”Tell them that if they manage to pick out the leader or those closest to the leader, they are to take them alive if possible. I have given the same order to the Men, so this will be a bit of a competition; whichever group brings me the leader alive can look forward to a prize.” She gave them an enigmatic smile as she left.  
Kraash leered and gave her backside a hungry look. ”Does that mean we'll get a f-” His question was abruptly interrupted as Ghakû's shield spun through the air and hit him square in the face. He fell to the ground roaring curses and clutching his broken nose.  
”Stupid fuck,” Sulmurz muttered without opening his eyes.  
”Couldn't agree more.”  
  
Sulmurz rolled up into sitting position and Praktash's head snapped up at hearing the familiar voice. Margzat grinned as Graznikh appeared in their midst. ”Hey Lug-snaga! Still alive, are ya?”  
”Buddy!!”  
”Nar, nar!” Graznikh whooped as Praktash scooped him up.  
”I knew you'd make it!” the Uruk chirped as he caught his fangs in an Uruk kiss.  
”Eashy, min' my 'ibs,” Graznikh mumbled into his mouth with a chuckle.  
”Are you two getting cute or what?!” Sulmurz complained.  
”'Course not,” Praktash giggled as he put Graznikh down. ”Wouldn't dream of it.”  
”So whazzup, drartul?” Graznikh asked while bumping his shoulder against Sulmurz's. ”Killed any tarks for me?”  
”Fair share, but not for you,” Sulmurz replied with a grin. ”Too bad ya were too lazy to come. I coulda saved some for ya.”  
”Oh, I had my share too.”  
”What, we missed a few?”  
”He's been playin' wraith,” Mikbork squeaked.  
”An' how the fuck d'you know that?” Graznikh asked with an astounded expression. Then he grinned. ”Praktash, right?”  
Praktash looked confused. ”I didn't say anythin'!”  
”Nar, but ya smelled,” the snuffler snickered.  
”I got it too,” Margzat rumbled, ”when ya came back from that 'sinkhole accident'. Sinkholes don't give ya bite marks.”  
”Oops...” Graznikh and Margzat both leered as Praktash's cheeks turned dark.  
”Come onnn,” Sulmurz growled as he turned away with an uncomfortable scowl.  
”So why'd ya come back?” Praktash asked once he had found his voice again.  
”Wouldn't wanna miss the fun,” Graznikh replied with a grin. ”Thanks for the note, by the way.” Then he threw a sullen glance in Záhovar's direction. ”I'm off again as soon as ya march. Got some plans to get into that stronghold if sorcery doesn't do the trick.”  
”Oh no, you're not,” Sulmurz said. ”We'll be coming with ya.”  
”Who gave ya leave to do that?”  
Sulmurz jabbed a thumb in Záhovar's general direction. ”The Uruks'll be doin' the main charge along with the shara. We're at your command. Chief.” He grinned at Graznikh's scowl. ”Nice bow, by the way.”  
  
While waiting for the others to get ready, Graznikh and Praktash began recounting their respective adventures. Sulmurz's group soon chimed in.  
”You _ate_ one of those?!” Praktash started laughing.  
”Yeah, that's pretty much the reaction he had too,” Graznikh said with a grin.  
”Shut up,” Kraash sulked.  
”T'was _mine,_ ” Mikbork growled. ”I found it!”  
”Well, good on you, little guy,” Praktash chuckled. ”Maybe we could go lookin' for more on the way back, hmm?”  
Mikbork hid behind Graznikh. ”I'm not goin' alone with that one!” He cowered a little as Praktash squatted in front of him.  
”That's right,” Sulmurz said. ”Never follow strange Uruks into the woods. 'Specially not if they offer mushrooms.”  
”Know from experience, do ya?” Praktash purred.  
”Shut up!”  
Praktash laughed as he turned back to Mikbork. ”Oh, c'mon, I promised Graznikh I wouldn't lay my paws on ya, remember?”  
”That's just paws,” Mikbork squeaked. ”He said nothin' 'bout the rest o' ya!”  
Praktash grinned. ”Y'know, that's right! He didn't! You're so _clever!”  
_ ”NAR!!” Mikbork yelped and bolted up among the cliffs.  
”You wouldn't even have to walk on your own,” Praktash shouted after him. ”I've got a bouncin' rod you can ride!”  
”Oh, come _onnn,_ ” Sulmurz groaned. ”That's not the picture I needed in my head right now! Or _ever!_ ”  
”You know you like it,” Praktash purred.  
”Shut up!!”  
”I'mma name my litter that,” Kraash snickered. ”All of 'em. 'Hey, you! Shaddap!'”  
”Remind me to ask lord Záhovar to erase your number from the breeding program,” Graznikh sneered. ”You clearly took a wrong turn somewhere. I still can't believe we're from the same mountain range. And Praktash?”  
”Yes, Graznikh?”  
”Quit trying to assault the snuffler.”  
”I'm not tryin' to, I just wanna hug him.”  
”Quit doing that too.”  
”But he's so bloody _cute!”  
_ ”I _believe_ I gave the order to move out,” Záhovar hissed behind them. Graznikh quickly looked away and Sulmurz jumped a little.  
”Snuffler's bolted,” Graznikh reported through gritted teeth.  
”Then find him. If this causes a delay, I will hold you responsible,” Záhovar told Praktash.  
”Why me?” Praktash whined.  
”Because _you,_ ” Záhovar replied with a friendly sneer. Praktash rolled his eyes and grinned.  
”Fine, I'll round up the snagas for ya.” He clapped his hands as if the 'snagas' were not already standing around him. ”C'mon then, little ones! Hop to it! I'll be behind ya an' trust me, ya _don't_ wanna lag behind!”  
”I'm not so sure about that,” Graznikh murmured and was rewarded with a leery purr and a stinging slap to the rear. He spun around with a vicious growl and Praktash quickly backed away with raised hands. He gave the wide-eyed Uruk a smug little grin and a wink before following the others.  
”I'm gonna take that back later!” Praktash called after him.

  
The sun had set and the shadows deepened into night as they made their way up the valley. Torches flickered dully in the encampment far ahead, but the attackers carried none and so were almost invisible in the misty darkness. The Uruk archers picked off the enemy watchposts one by one to ensure that they would not be noticed, but the last one unexpectedly had two men posted there, one of which was sitting down. The moment after one of them fell with an arrow through his throat, a horncall echoed up the pass and Margzat cursed.  
Záhovar gave the order to break cover and they rushed up towards the closed gate. Arrows began to whistle past as soon as the defenders heard them coming, hitting a few of Danyal's men further down the path but missing those at the front. Margzat, Záhovar and Praktash moved as one, covered by the krîtar's large shield as they hid behind an outcropping. Danyal shouted the command to return fire as soon as his men were within sight of the palisade.  
A few of them used the cover of darkness to rush up towards where the palisade met the cliffs; the wooden logs were no hinder for their grappling hooks and the nearby enemy archers got distracted as they scaled it. Once they were up and took the battle to the enemy, Záhovar waved for Danyal to charge. She peeked over the edge of the rock they were hiding behind. When she returned down, her eyes were wide.  
”Krîtar, look at the gate hinges and tell me what you see.”  
Margzat obeyed and let out a disdainful snort. ”I can't believe this.”  
”What? What is it?” Praktash asked.  
Margzat grinned. ”Ropes. They've tied the gate with fuckin' _ropes_.”  
”...Nar.”  
”Oh yeah.”  
”Krîtar,” Záhovar said with a wicked smile. ”You know what to do.” Margzat was still grinning as he took a deep breath.  
”URUKI!!” he bellowed. ”Sadauk, krîrat za-doraz!”  
The Uruks broke cover with joyful roars and threw themselves at the gate, hacking and slashing at the ropes that held it together. Záhovar and her protectors broke cover as well and Margzat shielded her as she began to gather strength for a spell.  
  
The krîtar's roar was the signal Graznikh had waited for. ”C'mon, time to show 'em what Orcs can do,” he hissed to the others. They had climbed the mountainside to get up near the back end of the encampment. This would cut them off from the main force, but most of the defenders had gathered near the only gate and left only a few watchposts behind.  
”Their commander must be a bloody beginner,” Sulmurz muttered.  
”Bad for them, good for us,” Graznikh replied. ”Hey, snaga? Ready to crack some tark skulls?”  
Kraash growled; he was already slavering with anticipation. Ghakû weighed his broadbladed spear in his hand. Mikbork just nodded with a grim smirk.  
”Remember; we take the leader alive, we get the prize.”  
”Ya don't happen to know what it is?” Ghakû asked.  
”Nope.”  
”Do we hafta share it with the Uruks?” Kraash asked.  
”Not if I can stop it.”  
”Fuck yeah!”  
”Keep yer voice down, you want the tarks to hear us?!”  
”Still wanna know what it is,” Ghakû muttered.  
” _By the way,_ ” Graznikh snarled to get their attention back. ”When I shout 'down' you fuckin' drop to the ground an' keep your heads down. Cover your ears too, just in case. This is important if ya wanna survive to the next sunrise.”  
”Whaddya gonna do?” Mikbork asked.  
Graznikh grinned. ”I got some sorcery o' my own.”  
  
  
As the gate hinges were chopped off, Záhovar unleashed the spell and blasted it open. As the Uruks charged in and the defenders began to run low on archers to defend the walls, the battle quickly turned ugly. While Danyal and his warriors focused on efficient killing and victory, the uzhâk went for all out dismemberment. Margzat had to knock the heads of his own underlings as much as the enemies' to keep them in line.  
Praktash needed space to swing his dire mace so he left Záhovar's side briefly. When the battle briefly calmed and he looked around, he found that he was alone.  
”'Zat? Záhovar?” One of the other Uruks lay on the ground nearby and he quickly hurried over to him. Thagurz was one of Mûrnaluzh's closest and one of those who had kept away from Praktash the most during the journey. Now he was unconscious and breathing shallowly, but he did not seem to be severely injured; he only had a few shallow cuts along his arms and legs.  
If Praktash had not sparred so much with Graznikh, he never would have seen the incoming attack. Now he rolled onto his back and thrust hard with his dire mace, hitting his opponent square in the chest. The man tumbled back, gasping hard and clutching his chest. Praktash took the opportunity to charge, but had to back away almost immediately as the man recovered much faster than he had anticipated and he was met with a flurry of flashing steel.  
His opponent wielded two short swords, a similar setup as Graznikh favoured. Praktash knew exactly how dangerous that combination could be; he had never beaten Graznikh in a serious spar and knew of no one else who had. _If this guy is half as quick with the knives as him... Skai, I'm in some deep shit here!_  
After the first real clash where he barely fended the tark off, he caught a faint scent that he recognised. _Of course the bastard has to use poisoned blades too._ He knew the poison; it was not deadly, but one cut would blur his vision and mess up the use of his legs. More than a cut would blind and paralyze for several hours, which was probably what had happened to Thagurz.  
Praktash was not going to take his chances. He knew when he was on the losing side. _I might be a coward, but I prefer to be a living one!_ The moment his opponent began to advance on him again, he turned tail and ran for his life. But soon he skidded to a stop as the tark appeared right in front of him. He quickly doubled back but soon the tark appeared from nowhere in front of him again. _Are there several of this bastard?!_  
As he found himself cornered, Praktash began to fear for real.  
”I'm a healer,” he whispered. ”Not a fighter!”  
”You are a monster,” the tark said matter-of-factly. ”And monsters deserve death.”  
”Fuck off,” Praktash snarled back. ”If anyone's a monster, it's you! You've been stealin' our stuff!”  
”Like you have stolen lives, you mean? How many lives have you taken, how many homes burned, women raped?!”  
”I didn't do any of that shit!!” he roared. ”I was on the bloody receivin' end of that stuff for years!”  
A thin, black mist began to seep up from the ground around them as the tark's lip curled in a cruel, terrifying smile. ”Then you probably deserved it.” With that he attacked. Praktash howled in desperate fear and fell backwards and into the Void. But death never came.

”Do you fear the shadows?”  
The wraithlike whisper sounded like it had been uttered right next to his ear, but somehow Praktash knew that that was not the case. Even so, he had never been so happy to hear Záhovar's voice. He heard the tark's surprised gasp and the scrape of his feet as he turned. Praktash reached out, found and swung his dire mace but hit nothing. Then the shadows moved outwards and formed a large bubble around him, the tark and Záhovar. But it was decidedly _not_ the Záhovar he had grown accustomed to and familiar with.  
Her skin glowed the way it had done that moonlit night before they reached Thaurband the first time. The bright metal lines on her armour did so too; the rest of it seemed to bleed the dark mist that surrounded them all, as did the etchings on her glaive. Her throat was torn open and spilled crimson all over the front of her armour and her eyes that were usually a dull glow now burned with icy, blue fire from a face devoid of life. Praktash felt fresh fear explode in his chest as he realised that this was no illusion, or at least not one that he could see or perceive.  
The tark attacked with a shrill cry, born more from desperation than any true bravery. Záhovar deflected his blows with such speed that Praktash could barely see it. He had never seen her and Graznikh spar, but he did not doubt for a second that if anyone could best his buddy, it would be her. She planted her steel-toed boot in the tark's crotch so hard that Praktash could hear his pubic bone shatter with a crunching sound, then impaled him upon her glaive.  
The look on her face as she savoured the tark's dying agony was too much. Praktash could not stand any more; he slowly crawled backwards until his back bumped into the cold stone behind him. There he curled up into a frightened little Uruk ball, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his ears.  
  
Margzat had ordered the uzhâk to hold their ground the moment he saw the High Officer's contours dissolve. He had seen Praktash fall to the ground but this was Officer business and nothing the Uruks were to get involved in. Instead they formed a protective chain around the black sphere to keep the tarks from interfering. Most of the shara warriors had apparently pulled back to the gate; they had taken heavy losses and once their leader lost sight of the Officer, he had lost whatever backbone he had previously had. A group that had been separated from the others during the fighting had flocked to Záhovar and been placed under Margzat's command; now they seemed to be as frightened of the Officer's doings as they were of him and the enemy. _Bloody cowards._ The sphere dissolved and faded abruptly, and Margzat turned to receive new orders. Then he spotted Praktash lying on the ground.  
Praktash did not move as he heard footsteps close in on him, but he did flinch as a large, heavy hand landed on his arm.  
”Bukrazikh? Ya alive?”  
Praktash tried to shrug the hand off without success.  
”Ya can come out now.”  
As Praktash looked into Margzat's warm, deep red eyes, he lost what little self-control he still had. He threw himself into the krîtar's arms, buried his face against his chest and began to cry.  
Margzat was perplexed. He had no idea what was going on and had no clue how to handle the situation. The Uruks were too shocked to laugh at first. The first to explode was Ghrazagh, soon followed by Lîrnash and a few of the others.  
”Silence!” Záhovar snapped. There were a few choking sounds and coughs as they tried to stop laughing. For a brief moment, all that was heard was Praktash's sobbing. Záhovar opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Graznikh's shout of ”Down!!” in the distance. The next moment the bonfire at the center of the encampment erupted like the Mountain and exploded, sending hot coals, burning tents and dying men flying with the shockwave.  
Záhovar stood with her hand raised and mouth open, staring at the chaos, as did the Uruks and the forgotten tribesmen. Even Praktash peeked up over Margzat's shoulder with teary eyes.  
”Hold your ground!” Záhovar commanded before the Uruks had even moved.  
”Wh... What just happened?” Margzat asked with a dazed expression.  
”I have no idea,” Záhovar replied, ”but I do hope that Graznikh has a good explanation for whatever in the Void he just did.”  
  
Graznikh lifted his head once the shockwave had passed to witness the chaos one little bottle had caused. Burning men ran back and forth screaming or desperately rolled on the ground without success. Coals rained from the sky and little flakes of burning cloth fell like the hot opposite of snowflakes everywhere. He started laughing.  
”WOOHOOO!!!” Kraash howled in exctasy as he saw the carnage. Mikbork squealed with mirth.  
”I'mma have a hearing problem after this,” Sulmurz muttered and smacked himself on the ear. Ghakû only stared at Graznikh, Mikbork and Kraash who were rolling on the ground, loudly celebrating the destruction. ”Ye're crazy! Completely, bloody, fuckin' crazy!”  
”Yes!!” Kraash exclaimed.  
Graznikh got to his feet still snickering, but sobered up immediately when he spotted the enemy group moving towards them. ”Incoming!”  
The fight was little more than a skirmish and would turn out to be the last. Once the enemy realised that they could not win, they broke and ran. The Orcs happily chased them down to the gate and right into the gauntlet that Danyal had set up outside. As they left again, Graznikh noticed the Southron leader doing a double-take as he spotted him. He leered and gave him a nod of greeting before running to catch up with the others, chuckling at his confused and suspicious scowl.  
  
While the others were distracted by the recent explosion, Praktash took his chance to slip out of Margzat's grip. _I started_ cryin' _in front of_ everyone! _What the fuck is wrong with me??_ To keep his panic and embarrassment in check, he sneaked off in the direction where he had found Thagurz to see if there was anything he could do there. Anything to distract himself and to get away from the uzhâk before they all turned on the 'weak link'.  
Thagurz had returned to consciousness and was trying to get up. He snarled weakly as Praktash knelt beside him. ”The fuck... are you still alive for?”  
”Shut up'n hold still. Thrashin' about won't make the poison leave ya any faster.”  
”Quit feeling me up!” he growled and shoved Praktash away. Praktash was not ready for a push and toppled backwards with a grunt.  
”The fuck is wrong with ya? I'm just tryin' to do my job!”  
” _You_ are a fuckin' coward!” Thagurz said as he sat up supported by shaking arms. ”You ran when you shoulda stayed put! There's a reason ya only have armour on the front, ya shitwad! Uruks don't run!”  
Thagurz snorted and shook the sweat out of his eyes as he tried to get up again. Praktash stood as well. He had to get away from everything and felt sick as the taste of failure and self-contempt filled his mouth. _Not a real Uruk. Bloody weakling._  
”Fine, I'll leave ya to it then. But don't blame me if you keep sweatin' an' shakin' like that for the next few days; I coulda given you the antidote if you'd been smart enough to be polite about it.”  
”Yeah, you run again. Run like a good little snaga, too scared to fight me even when I lie on the ground! Coward!”  
Praktash ignored him and kept walking. A shuffling sound from behind caught his attention; the next moment an arrow whistled past his ear.  
”Fuck this shit!” Thagurz growled and threw the bow away. Praktash turned to stare at him.  
”Are you completely outta your-”  
A thundering bellow split the air, startling them both. Margzat had apparently been following him and the arrow had pierce the cloth walls of a tent and grazed his arm. Now he charged Thagurz, who barely had time to scream before the krîtar had lifted him up and ripped his throat open with his fangs. Margzat spat the torn windpipe out and casually tossed the still twitching body aside. Praktash felt his knees weaken a little. Knowing that Margzat could be a violent one was one thing, but seeing it like this was another. It had all happened so fast.  
”He tried to kill me,” Margzat said with a shrug.  
”No need to explain,” Praktash whispered. _Of course he didn't do that to protect me._ Then he swallowed as Margzat lifted a gauntleted fist and knocked on his armoured chest with a black, bloody grin.  
”Ya didn't run, Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash frowned. ”What?”  
”Ya didn't run,” he repeated with more force. ”Uruks aren't supposed to fight alone, 'at's not how we do things. We fight as a pack; ya get separated, ya find yer way back to the pack. Ya didn't run, 's called a tactical retreat. We do that shit all the time.”  
That only made Praktash feel worse. ”Now you're just mockin' me,” he snarled.  
The grin faded from Margzat's face. ”What? Now listen here-”  
”Y'know what? You can take your uzhâk and shove it where the Eye'd bloody weep to see it!” With those words, he turned and ran.  
  
Margzat stared after him and tried to figure out what he had said or done to warrant this outburst.  
”Didn't mock ya,” he muttered to himself while picking up Praktash's dire mace that lay forgotten on the ground. Thagurz's body lay nearby and Margzat gave it a hard kick to vent some frustration.  
”This is all yer fault, ya stupid fuck! 'Uruks don't run' my arse, 'at's what bloody got ya to this point an' ya deserved every last bit o' it!” With a frustrated growl he kept kicking and stomping until there was only a bloody pulp where there should have been a face, and that was how Golnauk found him.  
”The fuck..?” Golnauk asked and gave Margzat an incredulous look.  
”Fuckin' bastard went rogue,” Margzat snarled. ”Tried to shoot me. Too bad he missed,” he added with a feral leer.  
Golnauk looked around. ”Thought ya went after Ghâshkaum.”  
Margzat chuckled. Golnauk had always been one for twisting words and the nickname he had made up for Praktash was only too fitting and, Margzat reluctantly admitted, far better than the one he himself had given him. ”I tried, but he's too fast. Little guy sure can run when he wants to.”  
”Runs a bit too much, if ya ask me.”  
”Well I didn't, so shut up about it.”  
Golnauk only chuckled at that. After a nod of permission from Margzat he crouched and began to loot the bodies. Margzat watched him in silence for a while. Golnauk was older than him; how old, he could not say and doubted that anyone outside the census office really could. He was a good soldier, an example-setter for the bootcamps and was as close to the perfect Uruk as Margzat had ever encountered but for one huge flaw; his complete lack of ambition. Golnauk could be as violent as any other Uruk but was as content at the bottom of the hierarchy as Margzat was at the top; the fact that he had survived there long enough to have his age forgotten was as much a testament to his battle prowess as his many scars, none of which had been a serious wound.  
He was one of the few that Margzat liked. He never dragged up dust the way other Uruks often did in the constant vying for a better spot in the inofficial hierarchy, and neither did he accept others using him for that purpose. More importantly, he made it clear where his loyalties lay and they were currently with Margzat. Golnauk was one of the few of lower rank around whom Margzat dared relax almost completely and one of the few whose advice he could trust. Had they not been Uruks they might have been shieldbrothers or even closer than that, but rank, the pack hierarchy and the military itself made it impossible. Being a krîtar meant that Margzat got transferred often; too often to establish any solid bonds. It was pure luck that they had both been in Lugburz when lord Záhovar gave Margzat the opportunity to handpick people for the mission they were now on.  
  
But now it was obvious that Golnauk wanted something, and that in itself made Margzat wary. ”Ya coulda looted back with the uzhâk. Out with it; whaddya want?”  
Golnauk grinned a little as he stood. Then he nodded in towards the camp. ”'Bout that redhead o' yours... He's a queer one, isn't he?”  
”More'n queer,” Margzat agreed, ”but he's hardly mine.”  
”No? Could be.”  
”He's not one o' the pack.”  
”So make him one.”  
”Th' Officer said not to-”  
”Not to _harm_ him. Didn't say nothing 'bout other things, otherwise your hands woulda been tied too.”  
Margzat frowned as he thought it over. ”He doesn't wanna.”  
”Like fuck he doesn't! Where's he been the whole trip? In your tent or hangin' out with us, when he wasn't on duty. If he was a snaga for real, he'd be hanging out with them, wouldn't he? But he's not, 'cept for that white opa-snaga of his. He wants to be an Uruk, he just doesn't know it himself yet.” Golnauk chuckled a little. ”Reminds me of a pup, he does. One that's grown up without a pack. He isn't breakin' the rules, 'cause he doesn't know 'em in the first place. They're not in him the way they're in us. He didn't have 'em beaten in, or maybe they were beaten outta him.”  
”Ya sure he could take it though? Th' initiation can be kinda... rough.”  
”I'm sure o' it,” Golnauk replied with a dirty leer. Margzat gave him a suspicious look.  
”Why're you so bloody eager to have him in the pack all o' a sudden anyway? Ya know the others'd tear him apart the moment it was out in the open.”  
”If ya say so... But I don't think so. Mûrna's not gonna piss off an Officer. Lîrnash's safe too, he's too soft to dare anything else. Ghraz's just givin' lip, he isn't serious with it, not after what happened in Ruzh Moraut.”  
”'At's just three. Three outta nine... nar, eight.”  
Golnauk grinned. ”Ye're a proper krîtar, but ya suck at counting. You, me, Ghrazagh, Lîrnash – that's four. Urkhish is too big an idiot to question ya. With Mûrna on the leash that's six. Six outta nine. That leaves three who might cause trouble. An' don't tell me you can't handle three idiots who don't know what's good for 'em.”  
Margzat scowled. ”I don't _want_ him in the pack. Things're weird enough as it is, an' ya know he doesn't fit in.”  
Golnauk's eyes narrowed as he watched Margzat absently stroke the handle of the dire mace. ”You wanna join him, not the other way 'round.”  
Margzat gave him a sharp glance. ”Questioning my authority, are ya?”  
”You're the krîtar,” Golnauk replied with a shrug. ”It's a diff'rent life, 'at's for sure.” With that he left Margzat to his thoughts.

 _I'm the krîtar. Like 'at's all there is. Krîtar, Captain, door-guard. Don't question, just do what ye're told. It'll make it easier, they said. Skai Bukrazikh, ye're gonna make me question ev'rything in the end, won'tcha?_ For a moment he allowed himself to dream a little, to imagine having all the things he thought impossible.  
One step up the ladder and he would be kritauk. That would be it; the highest rank an Uruk could reach. Margzat was not sure if he wanted to climb that high; it also meant being even more alone and an even bigger target for ambitious upstarts. But with Záhovar, an entirely new horizon opened before him, a horizon with even greater rewards for an ambitious commander who knew how to make himself useful. No more transfers back and forth across the country, no more looking over his shoulder at each new place as every upstart sought to test his worth. And the biggest prize of all, the one Margzat really wanted to get his hands on; a feisty red-head with bright green eyes.  
Margzat was not stupid; he could sense the tension rising between Graznikh and the High Officer. He was not going to pick a fight with the berserker; despite recent events he still respected him and had no illusions of winning that fight. But if Graznikh pissed his master off enough she might off him herself. And that would leave an opening for a more reliable bodyguard, an opening Margzat could use, if it came to it. Uruks were uncommon as Lug-snaga but far more common than regular Orcs. Sulmurz was no threat; he was a snaga at heart and would be easily subdued. And Praktash would no doubt be upset over the loss of his 'buddy' and would need a distraction to take his mind off things. For a brief moment, Margzat saw himself reclining in a real bed with furs instead of itchy strawbags, Praktash stretched out beside him and giving him the kind of look that he currently reserved for Graznikh. Margzat leered as he began to walk back. _That_ was definitely something worth fighting for.  
”The fuck're ya just standin' here for?” he growled as he returned to the uzhâk. ”Get on with th' lootin'; I want all valuables'n shit piled high right here afore sunrise!”  
”Where's Thagurz?” Mûrnaluzh asked.  
Margzat grabbed his throat with a snarl. ”Did I fuckin' stutter?!”  
Mûrnaluzh rapidly shook his head and Margzat dropped him with a dangerous grin. ”Good. Now get the fuck outta my sight.”  
As he noticed Záhovar watching him with mild interest, he bowed his head respectfully.  
  
  
The Orcs were busy looting when Praktash found them. He quickly wiped the tears off his face and made sure no new ones would come before he walked up to Ghakû.  
”Hey. Where's Graz?”  
The veteran gave him an uninterested glance before jabbing a clawed thumb over his shoulder. ”Big tent over there, the one with the blue paintings on it.”  
Graznikh was inside, shuffling through a stack of singed parchments. He smiled as he spotted Praktash.  
”Hey, buddy! First big fight; how ya feeling?” The smile disappeared instantly as Praktash sunk down on the edge of the cot with a muffled sob. ”Ah, shit.” He stuck his head out of the tent. ”Hey, Sul! _Sulmurz,_ ya block-headed git!”  
”Whaddya want, ya white-washed slavedriver?” Sulmurz roared back with a laugh.  
”Hold the positions for me a bit, will ya? Need some quality time with my buddy. And if ya find booze, lemme know _before_ ya down the lot; I want my share.”  
Sulmurz shouted something back that Graznikh couldn't quite hear. ”What?”  
”Nothing, you'll have yer share.”  
Graznikh returned to Praktash's side while unbuckling his cuirass. When it hit the ground he began tugging at the buckles on Praktash's, but the Uruk grabbed his wrist.  
”I'm not in the mood to fuck.”  
Graznikh quickly grabbed his chin with a growl and forced his head up. ”Look at me. No, seriously, _look_ at me! Ya really think that I of all folks would bloody take advantage of ya when you're like this? Seriously?”  
Praktash shook his head and began to cry harder as Graznikh brushed the tears off his cheeks. ”I'm sorry...”  
”Don't be,” Graznikh murmured as he sat down crosslegged on the cot beside Praktash. Despite being the larger one, the Uruk felt small as he placed his head in his lap. ”Skai, what happened back there? Just let it out, ya know I'd never give ya lip for it.”  
Amid sobs and hitched breaths, Praktash told him all that had happened; the strange enemy, Záhovar's horrifying transformation, his public breakdown, Thagurz's assassination attempt and subsequent demise.  
”I'm not cut out for this sorta shit,” he whimpered. ”I'm such a fuckin' coward, this wasn't at all thrillin' like everyone said it'd be! I just felt like I was in the way all the time, and then I got separated from the others which was all wrong and...”  
”Buddy,” Graznikh said and combed his red hair with his claws. ”You're not-”  
” _Don't_ fuckin' say I'm not a coward, I know what I did an' what I felt out there!”  
”...Fine. You're a coward.”

Praktash opened his mouth to protest before he could think. He lifted his head and stared at Graznikh with equal confusion and offense. Graznikh gave him a knowing leer.  
”Feeling better now, buddy?”  
”Oh, you smug fuckin' bastard..!” Graznikh chuckled as Praktash grabbed a pillow and began to beat him with it. ”You son of a mangy warg bitch, how the fuck d'ya _do_ this?!”  
”This isn't my fault!” Graznikh laughed as he raised his hands to defend himself.  
”That's my line,” Praktash said with a grin. Then he stopped hitting and grew anxious again. ”I can't go back. I can't face the uzhâk like this; they're gonna tear me apart!”  
Graznikh placed a hand on his neck, but not in a threatening way. ”I need you there, buddy. I need you to protect her.”  
”Can't Sulmurz do that?”  
”He's not as reliable as you are.”  
Praktash gave him a meek smile. ”Reliable? A turntail like me?”  
”Stop that, you're not. 'Sides, I'm sure Margzat'd step in for ya if they were stupid enough to try anything. As would Záhovar.” Graznikh frowned as Praktash looked away. ”What? This about what he said to ya?”  
Praktash nodded.  
”He's a bit clumsy with words at times. Maybe he tried to pull the same trick I did?”  
”I don't care, I can't do it. Don'tcha get it? I fuckin' _cried!_ Tarks cry an' snivel, not Orcs, definitely not Uruks!”  
”Záhovar cries too at times,” Graznikh pointed out. ”Are ya sayin' she's weak and cowardly?”  
”Nar! But... She's different, she's an Officer, she can do shit like that an' no one'd dare to call her out on it.”  
”An' you don't think you could reach that point yourself?”  
Praktash fell silent and frowned. He had never thought of that before.

Graznikh leaned closer to him. ”Set the terms and defend 'em, buddy. That's the secret to respect and higher rank; doesn't matter if you're down here,” he held his hand near the surface of the bed, ”or way up here.” He lifted his hand far above his head. ”There's no climbing without a solid ground to start from. Set the terms'n defend them. Then work out a strategy and be ready to roll with the punches.”  
When Praktash met his eyes, there was a new light in them. ”Ya really think I could do that?”  
”'Course ya can! You took on a High Officer, didn'tcha? You made her back down and saved me from the fate of bein' a mind-messed-up snaga. One little uzhâk's nothing compared to that. _And_ you've already knocked their krîtar over in two different ways. That's gotta amount to something, right?”  
Praktash sat up and stretched with a groan. Graznikh took the opportunity to give his exposed abs a fond slap and chuckled as Praktash squeaked in surprise.  
”Don't go,” Praktash said quietly. ”Please.”  
”Y'know; normally I wouldn't take that word from anyone.”  
”I know. But you'll take it from me, won'tcha? Don't go. Can'tcha at least sleep in camp? I miss havin' ya near.”  
”You're the one who told me to stay away in the first place.”  
”I _know,_ but...”  
”Alright. Wouldn't wanna miss watchin' ya pull rank on the poor krîtar; he's gonna squeak like a goblin and faint from the shock, I'm sure.”  
Praktash was getting up but could not keep from laughing out loud at that picture and collapsed back onto the bed. Graznikh went over to where he had dropped the parchments and pulled a blank one out from the pile. He quickly scribbled something on it and folded it.  
”Could ya take this to Záhovar? Might not have to chase down any more rebels if she makes use of this in the right way.”  
Praktash nodded. ”Sure, if you promise to be back for bedtime.”  
”Want me to warm your pretty rump, do ya?” he asked with a leer. ”Haven't ya had enough? You walked kinda funny last I tried.”  
Praktash's only answer was a little purr.  
  
  
Meanwhile, Mûrnaluzh had found the rebel leader.  
”Dead?” Záhovar frowned.  
”Poison,” Margzat said. ”Nothin' to do; he swallowed an' was gone afore we could get to him.”  
”Then there is no point in dwelling on it. The uzhâk has done well, and deserves...” She trailed off as Praktash came up to them and held out a note.  
”From Graznikh,” he said as she took it and began to read.  
  
Hey,

Sorry 'bout the 'boom' back there, I didn't think it'd be that big. I found this piece o' cloth on one o' the scouts, think he was a messenger of some sort. I can't read it, but maybe your pet Southron can.

Miss ya,  
Graz  
  
Folded inside the note was the piece of cloth he had mentioned. Záhovar stared at his last words for a moment. Then she beckoned for Danyal to approach and gave him the cloth. ”What do you think of this?”  
He studied the markings briefly, then he smiled. ”Of course... I should have guessed.”  
”Guessed what?”  
”This is a map,” he explained, ”of the kind my people use. It outlines the Crags, a large rock formation out in the desert. Incomplete, as all maps of that place are.”  
”Why is that?”  
Danyal frowned. ”The interior of the Crags is a maze. The moving dunes often hide the entrances, of which there are many. The oasis on the outskirts are used as a watering hole by the tribe that claims the area, but few have ever ventured in there. Those who do tend to disappear.”  
”Sounds like a proper hideout for rebels,” Praktash commented.  
”Y'know, that sounds like something I, uh...” Sulmurz started but fell silent and shifted uncomfortably as three pairs of eyes stared at him with annoyance.  
”What does it sound like?” Záhovar asked after a moment of silence.  
Sulmurz quickly swallowed his nervosity. ”Well, there was this guy me an' Graznikh interrogated, back when we were going ro- I mean, on our own... Err...” He gave her an apologetic grin before continuing. ”Anyway, this guy was one of the rebels. He told us of where they were holed up. Big rock, about three days' journey into the desert southeast o' where the river bends. Fords o' Harnen, he called it, the place where they leave the road.”  
Záhovar looked to Danyal. ”What do you know of he area?”  
He shook his head as he looked at the map. ”Very little, I'm afraid. It is not my tribe's territory, so I have only passed there once or twice before. I could not guide you there, that's for sure. And I would be a fool if I recommended you to try the journey on your own. The land there is pure desert with no shade or shelter to be found. The moving dunes makes it impossible to track anything, and like I said before, the entrances are often covered with sand and hard to find. I cannot imagine how these raiders manage the distance; it is too far to go on foot without water in the heat, and it is hard to carry enough with you.”  
”You just said there was a tribe claimin' it,” Praktash remarked. ”How do _they_ manage?”  
”They stay mounted. Men, women, children; all on horseback. Horses cover more ground than a man on foot.”

Now four pairs of eyes were staring at Danyal. He shifted a little. ”How... may I be of service?”  
”You have lost many good men,” Záhovar said quietly. ”I cannot ask you to continue on this mission.”  
He frowned. ”But...”  
”Losing so many men means that you have many horses to spare.”  
Danyal paled a little. ”That... is true.”  
”And after such a long journey your men will no doubt want rest, not care for so many extra horses.”  
Danyal saw where things were going. ”It would indeed be a relief,” he said through gritted teeth. ”But I cannot simply leave them in the desert; it would be a shame for such fine warhorses not to be of use.”  
Záhovar remained silent, but a small smile played on her lips. Danyal took a deep breath.  
”Fine. Take them. But I cannot promise that they will carry your... underlings, as they are neither trained for it nor used to their scent and presence.”  
”I believe I can solve that. But I need two services from you before I let you go.”  
Danyal sighed. ”I live to serve the Great Tower.”  
”Send one of your fastest riders to Ruzh Moraut; the fortress that you know as Eastern Guard. Have him tell High Officer Dâurinzil that I have need of one of the Uruk garrisons, and that a caravan will meet them on the way. Have him relay this info to the caravan master as well and have him send only the fastest wagons, for the Uruks will travel at speed. I will write an official missive with more detailed instructions.”  
”This caravan you speak of, is it the one we guarded on the way here?” Záhovar nodded. ”Very well. And... The second service?”  
”Send your riders along the river and cut off any scouts from the Crags until the Uruks arrive. Once they do, you are free to leave. Dismissed.”  
He bowed respectfully before walking away.  
”What'll we do?” Praktash asked quietly.  
”We will remain here and wait for the other Uruks to arrive. Take the time and whatever resources you can find here to replenish your stock of healing salve.”  
”How long 'til they arrive?”  
”Weeks, for sure. It is a long distance to travel.”  
”Then I might have enough time to brew up s'more ghâshpau,” Praktash said thoughtfully. ”I heard some o' the others complain that they were runnin' low on it.”  
”Do so,” Záhovar said. ”If there is anything you need, you know you have but to ask. I can send a request for new supplies with the rider as well, should you need it.”  
Praktash began to shake his head, but then he remembered something. ”There's somethin'... I'll write it down, easier to remember that way.”  
”Good. Krîtar?”  
”Right here, Lug-durbatar.” Praktash quickly looked away and took a step away as Margzat stopped beside him.  
”No doubt you heard my words. Give the order to make camp.”  
”Anythin' else?”  
”Yes; I will not have you sit idle. This place would be easily defended with proper walls and a garrison. While we wait for the forces from Ruzh Moraut, you will begin the construction of a fortified outpost here.”  
Margzat did not reply. Praktash stole a glance and realised that the krîtar was bristling.  
Záhovar picked up on it as well; her eyes narrowed as she stared Margzat down.  
”Too fine for snaga work, krîtar?” Praktash asked kindly.  
”Answer him,” Záhovar said in a low, dangerous voice.  
”Uruks're warriors, not...” He dared not go on, not with the little High Officer that barely reached his chest glaring at him with cold eyes.  
”While under my command, you are what I tell you that you are,” she hissed. ”Now tell me truthfully, _krîtar_ ; are your 'warriors' completely incapable of anything other than waving weapons about?”  
”Nar, Lug-durbatar,” he answered through gritted fangs.  
”And would you prefer that your new rank be ulmukhatâr and that I find someone better suited to carry out my commands?”  
Margzat's eyes widened and suddenly his scent filled with fear. ”Nar, Lug-durbatar!”  
”Then you will give the order to _build,_ krîtar. This is not mere 'snaga-work', this is a part of the war effort and an important step in securing the only easily accessible road into the heart of our realm. Anyone who opposes this will be considered one who does not take winning this war seriously, a person more commonly known as a traitor. I assume that you still remember how to deal with such people.”  
Margzat quickly nodded and Záhovar sent him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.  
  
”Can I stay?” Praktash asked quietly and she nodded. He could barely keep his mirth down as they went over to the large tent that had belonged to the rebel leader.  
”You enjoyed that far too much,” he whispered once they were shielded from prying eyes.  
”And you did not?” Záhovar replied with a smile.  
”Well, he deserved every last bit o' that.”  
”Has he given you trouble?”  
”nar, nothin' serious. He's just been a bit pushy lately, it's buggin' me. An' my runnin' like a frightened little lizard earlier didn't help.”  
”Remember who you are. Do not let them walk over you.”  
”I won't... Y'know, Graz said more or less the same.”  
”You have spoken to him then? Where is he?”  
”Off with the other snaga. Say... There's somethin' I need to tell ya, about him.”  
”Then we shall speak of it first thing in the morrow. What I did earlier exerted me greatly, I need rest more than anything.”  
”Sure,” Praktash said with a grin. ”I'll just get my bag, then I'll stand guard. You rest as long as ya want, I'll hold down the fort for ya.”  
  
  
Danyal was sound asleep in his tent that night, thinking himself safe, surrounded by what was left of his men when the wraith visited. He woke up just as it straddled him and covered his mouth and nose with a calloused hand. The cold edge of a knife touched his throat and all he could see was a pair of glowing, red eyes as it leaned in close.  
”I don't care who you are,” it hissed. ”I don't care where you're from or what bloody titles you carry. I got a few questions for ya. If you make a single sound other than answering, I'll kill ya. We clear?”  
Danyal nodded with wide eyes. Warrior though he was, he dared not fight something that he could not even comprehend. The hand on his mouth disappeared but the knife remained.  
”Ya know the name 'Dachman', don'tcha?”  
Danyal nodded.  
”Where and how did ya meet him last?”  
”Five years, at least. He came to us and demanded that we leave our homeland and follow him on some endeavour. He would not say where, so my father refused. He died shortly after, from poison.”  
”And the first time?”  
Danyal frowned. ”I was but a child. My grandfather led our tribe back then. Dachman requested that he lend him some warriors; again, I do not know why or where they went. But none of them ever returned. I suaspect that is why my father refused him when he came the second time.”  
”So you had nothin' to do with the attempt on lord Záhovar's bodyguard's life in Khand twenty years ago?”  
”What attempt? Explain yourself!”  
”Keep yer voice down if ya wanna live to see the sunrise!” Graznikh took a deep breath. ”First time was in the capital; the leader of the mob wore Dachman's signet and dressed the way your warriors do. The second attempt _were_ your warriors, mounted an' all. Same garb, same weapons. None of 'em made it out alive.”  
Danyal took a closer look at the 'wraith'. ”You...” he whispered. ”The red-eyed Orc I saw during the battle! _You_ are this 'wraith' that has been preying upon my men?”  
”The fuck makes ya think that?” it hissed, but the grin it now wore spoke plainly.  
”And this is vengeance for those attacks so long ago? I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it! I was but a child, still clinging to my mother's skirts; I could not have led those men had I even wanted to!”

Graznikh wanted badly to call him a liar, but his scent told him that he spoke the truth. Even so, he pressed the knife just a little bit closer to his throat to see if he could force something more out of him.  
Danyal closed his eyes. ”If... If you wish it, I can prove my honour and loyalty to your master. I will give you free access to our camp, you may look each and every man in it in the eye and see if you recognise any of those responsible for the attacks. Those you recognise will be yours to do with as you please... What say you?”  
”You're a bloody idiot to offer that kinda price to an Orc” Graznikh leered. ”I could pick off half your tribe that way an' you wouldn't be able to say shit about it. But nar. You'll prove your loyalty by offerin' my master your sword. You'll go with us to the Crags and fight alongside us, and your warriors'll come too if they don't desert before then.”  
”Agreed,” Danyal whispered. As the knife disappeared, he breathed a sigh of relief. The Orc seemed to float down from the bed and into the shadows at the far end of the tent. There he listened and sniffed the air briefly before disappearing out into the night. Danyal lay back down on his bed and closed his eyes, but found no rest that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadauk – attack  
> Krîrat za-doraz – cut the gate  
> Ghâshkaum – lit. 'fire-hair' (ghâsh-kaum) but can also mean 'hot-head' or 'fire' as an abstraction (think 'fireyness'). It's also a play with the word 'bashkaum' which means 'alliance' (not to be confused with 'bosnauk' which means ally but in a different dialect).  
> Ulmukhatâr – lit. 'scout leader', a temporary title given to a grunt in charge of a scouting party. The way Záhovar used it meant that she threatened to drop Margzat down to the bottom of the hierarchy, as he would be a mere footsoldier the moment the mission was over.


	13. Up And Down

As the sun rose, Graznikh relieved Praktash outside Záhovar's tent so that the Uruk could get some rest. He had the other Orcs use the fabric from a few of the ruined tents to make and set up a large tarp outside the tent to shield them from the Sun. Soon the others were asleep. Graznikh judged that it was safe to relax a little, so he took the opportunity to remove his armour and clothes to repair them; one of the buckles on his shirt had torn and the rivets that held the metal sheets on his bracers were rusty and badly needed replacing. Now that he knew how to shut her presence out, he found that it was far easier to be around Záhovar without feeling unreasonably angry, at least while she was out of sight.  
  
Praktash slept soundly on the carpeted floor in the High Officer's tent and woke up when she did. At her request he went to get rations for breakfast before settling down for a serious chat. Záhovar listened intently as he described Graznikh's odd condition in great detail.  
”He can barely control it as it is. He isn't shuttin' ya out 'cause he wants to, but 'cause he _has_ to, to not go crazy. Smells like sorcery to me, but I dunno. You're the expert on that kinda stuff.”  
”How long has this been going on?”  
”Well, how long has he been actin' like he hates ya?”  
Záhovar thought for a moment. ”I noticed it first in Thaurband. But was that not because he was upset with me for telling him off in Morigost?”  
”I thought so too, but now I'm not sure,” Praktash said.  
”Has he interacted at all with any other High Officer? Did he stray while you were outside Blog Shakâmb?”  
”Nar, I woulda noticed if he did. There was that hassle on the boat, but you were the only Top One there.”  
”And I doubt that Dâurinzil would be able to cast any kind of spell without aid; he is even weaker with sorcery than I am.”  
Praktash gave her an unsure grin. ”Judgin' by what ya did last night, I'm not sure I ever wanna meet someone who's stronger... again,” he added with a shudder.  
”But he has not encountered any High Officers you say; that leaves out sorcery. One thing that it cannot do is remove someone's memory; that is a skill our Master alone possess. Unless...” Záhovar fell silent as a concerned frown spread on her face.  
”Unless... what?” Praktash asked.  
”Unless he hides it willingly.”  
”I thought you could read his mind?”  
She shook her head. ”I gave you both a promise; I will not delve into his mind unless he explicitly allows me to. And I will not break that promise unless he openly rebels against me or threatens our mission. Besides, there is precious little time to force such an issue now.” She placed a hand on Praktash's shoulder. ”Keep an eye on him, for us both. He has slighted me on more than one occasion, but I will not give up on him yet.”  
Praktash nodded and opened his mouth to speak, only to get interrupted by Graznikh's howl of surprise from outside. As he looked out to see what had befallen his buddy, he began to laugh; Akûl had returned with three dead deerlike animals and was currently holding his rider in a tight grip on the ground, each lick nearly drowning him.  
"Why didn'tcha bring that one to the fight?" Sulmurz asked. "Woulda come in handy."  
"He's been doin' a lot of fighting lately," Graznikh replied as he scratched the happy warg's neck. "And he'd just be a big target in here. I figured he'd earned a rest from it all. Didn'tcha, buddy?"  
  
They remained in the encampment for the worse part of three weeks before the Ruzh Moraut garrison arrived. Danyal left to carry out Záhovar's command after pledging himself to her cause, an act that seemed to surprise her. Graznikh felt some measure of satisfaction at that. _Glad to be of use, âmbal._ Afterwards, he had Praktash tell her in detail what he had done to make it happen. She had been upset at his acting out of bonds but could not deny that he had done well, and that acknowledgement was all the reward Graznikh needed. Praktash had spent much of the day tending to various wounds. The worst off was Urkhish; he had gotten a shield in his head and had a bad concussion and a crack in his skull. Lîrnash had stepped on a sword and cut the sole of his foot; the rest had only minor scrapes, cuts and bruises.  
They never found out what the lost prize was, but after finding several barrels of assorted alcoholic beverages in a hidden stash pit, no one cared anymore. By the end of that night the Orcs had been so drunk that none of them could stand up. Sulmurz got into a rather vicious fight with Kraash after the other Orc tried to tear his pants off, but both had been too drunk to do much damage. The Uruks engaged in some kind of drinking contest with rules that eluded everyone else but that included pronouncing ”za-nûlgbal nûkhurk nûgakmogat za-nûturz nûkhur” perfectly at speed. Golnauk eventually came up with a second one.  
”Try this instead,” he said. ”Za-krimp krimpat za-krîtar zûk krûn krivâkal zaur krûrbatârkû.”  
”That doesn't even make sense,” Ghrazagh complained.  
”Sure does.”  
”Does not!”  
”It fucking _does!_ ”  
Margzat was too busy gazing longingly at Praktash, who had collapsed in a fit of drunk giggling, to break up the ensuing fight over which rhyme made most sense.  
Graznikh drunk himself into a blissful stupor where the rage and hurt could not reach him and fell asleep with Záhovar in his arms, after he had wrestled her down, hooked his arms and legs around her and refused to let go. Praktash watched the entire episode with a dreamy smile and eventually joined them, curling up behind him. After a while and much hesitation they were joined by Sulmurz, who slowly scooched closed until Praktash muttered that he should just get his shit together and come to bed.  
  
  
The night after, they were as hungover as they had been drunk the night before. The only one who was not was Záhovar, who had not been affected by the alcohol and who took her revenge on Graznikh by forcefeeding him of her strength until his teeth were chattering.  
”I hate you,” he snarled, ”Can'tcha even let me be drink-sick in peace?”  
”And suffer your nausea and self-pity? Now why would I do that, my bodyguard?”  
The way she said the word made it sound like an insult and Graznikh was about to retort in kind, but was interrupted by Sulmurz who weakly yanked on his sleeve.  
”Could... Could ya keep it down a li'l?” he whispered with a despairing wince. ”Some o' us're dyin' here.”  
Praktash had a fire going and a filled pot ready as the others woke up, but it was not breakfast he treated them to.  
”Ya gonna hold a tea party? Isn't it a bit early for that?” Margzat groaned as he sat down with eyes that looked even blacker than usual because of how bloodshot they were.  
”You might grow to like this tea more than what ya had last night,” Praktash remarked as he pushed a full mug into the krîtar's hand. ”Now shut up an' drink, or I'll give it to someone who deserves it.”  
  
The painkiller tea made Praktash the hero of the day once he had talked them all into downing a cup of the foul liquid. Záhovar allowed for one more day of rest and recuperation before commanding the construction of the outpost to begin. Since no fighting was expected to happen, the Orcs left their armour behind. The rocks radiated heat after baking in the sun all day and the night breeze was pleasantly cool. The Uruks snorted at that at first, but soon threw envious glances in the direction of the snaga. Margzat eventually picked up on the current sentiment and commanded them to ditch the extra weight as well. Praktash was helping Záhovar with some book-keeping but was constantly distracted by all the muscles glistening in the moonlight and noticed Záhovar being in a similar state of mind. Soon they sat close together, pointing and whispering and giving the workers appreciative looks. Graznikh could not help but flex and swagger a little extra as he noticed Záhovar's hungry looks. _Yeah, you look at this. Take a good, hard look at all the stuff you can't have. Bitch._  
After the incompetent Uruks had milled about for a while with Margzat desperately trying to come up with some sort of working order, Sulmurz let out a frustrated groan.  
”I can't _believe_ this!”  
Záhovar appeared before him with an arched eyebrow. ”What is it, drartul?”  
”Err...”  
”Think you that you have a better way of doing this?”  
Sulmurz suddenly found himself being the center of attention. His eyes darted back and forth between Záhovar and the Uruks a few times. Then he suddenly straightened up as much as his bowed stature would allow. ”Yeah, I'd wager I do.”  
Margzat let out a trumpeting snort. It was the only protest he dared voice. Praktash could smell where things were headed and bent down to whisper in Záhovar's ear.  
”Don't do this; you're targetin' the Uruks' pride an' pack sense here.”  
”Speak.” He quickly whispered his suggestion before backing off with a respectful nod.  
Záhovar met Margzat's eyes. ”I take it you do not agree with the drartul's claim, krîtar.”  
”He's lower in rank,” Margzat began, ”An' he's a snaga.”  
”Think you that I would disrupt this order?”  
”Err...”  
”Lug-snaga Graznikh.”  
Graznikh had been deep in thought and twitched so hard at hearing his name spoken that he nearly fell over. After a moment's hesitation he stepped close to her, choking down the hate that threatened to overwhelm him. ”Yeah?”  
Záhovar did not look at him as she spoke. ”I hereby elevate you to the rank of kritauk. I leave you in charge of this building project; drartul Sulmurz will be your advisor on how to proceed. Do what you must to see this through; use any resources you can find and _all_ the soldiers at your command.”  
With that, she left. Graznikh stared after her back for a moment before locking gaze with Margzat. The giant Black Uruk looked like he was about to explode.  
”This isn't... This is... Sha!!”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Remember Morigost? Looks like it's time to cash in.” He grinned a little when Margzat refused to answer. ”Ya really gonna go against an Officer's order? Ya really wanna fight about this?”  
  
Praktash had stayed behind to see how things would play out; now he bit his lip as he watched the two men in his life stare each other down in open challenge. His suggestion to Záhovar had been to elevate Graznikh to krîtar's rank; that would make him Margzat's official equal and give the Uruk an opening to work together with the 'snaga' without losing face. But she had gone even further and thrown him up from nothing all the way to the top in one go. Praktash's suggestion would have made things easier, while this took things straight to Utumno.  
Graznikh quickly went through his options. Margzat attacking him openly would be the easy way out; then all he had to do was beat him into submission. If the krîtar did not fight but refused to follow orders, Graznikh had to take the fight to him and potentially end up having to fight the rest of the uzhâk as well. Briefly he wondered if Záhovar had done this to have him killed without having to dirty her hands; it would be a fitting end for a useless snaga. The alternative was too unreal to even consider.  
Margzat ground his teeth together as he glared at Graznikh with open hostility. Then he suddenly flashed an unexpected grin.  
”You've bested me once,” he rumbled, ”an' I'm thinkin' a second fight'd end up the same way. Or down. Ya got some queer ways o' doin' things, but I won't have it said I can't be flexible if I have to. Have it yer way, kritauk, if that's how it's gonna be.”  
Graznikh shot him a lopsided grin. Then he roared a as Mûrnaluzh suddenly shot forward, but the attack was not aimed at him. Margzat spun and bellowed as his rival's dagger left a deep gash across his unprotected chest. He returned the favour in kind by bringing his fist down hard onto Mûrnaluzh's shoulder, breaking his collarbone with an audible snap.  
The other Uruks quickly backed away to leave space for the two combatants. At first Graznikh wondered why they did not step in to aid their respective leader, but then he felt the bond shift ever so slightly and realised that Záhovar was keeping an eye on things. The Uruks would not start a rebellion right in front of a High Officer.

Once he no longer had the element of surprise on his side, things looked grim for Mûrnaluzh. Margzat soon disarmed him and jammed the dagger into his arm and twisted it. Then he pulled him close. ”We done here?!”  
Mûrnaluzh nodded and quickly bared his throat. Margzat's lips quivered and Graznikh almost thought he would bite, but then he yanked the dagger out and slammed Mûrnaluzh into the ground, bellowing a battle-roar that challenged everyone else stupid enough to pull a similar trick to step forward. When no one did so, he glanced at Praktash.  
”Might need a healer here, if ya care.”  
”Finally,” Praktash commented laconically before leaving to fetch his healer's bag.  
”So are we done now?” Graznikh asked. ”Ready to do something constructive with your lives, instead of beating the crap outta each other?”  
”Watch-” Margzat began, but fell silent when he recalled that the power balance had shifted. He shook his head to clear it. ”Yeah, we're done. Ye're in charge, kritauk.” He turned to the uzhâk. ”Uruki! Vraut. Ya know the deal; kritauk Graznikh's in charge now.”  
”Here,” Sulmurz said and handed Graznikh the whip with a grin. ”Might come in handy. Ya never know. Oh, this I wanna see!”  
Graznikh took it with a nod of gratitude before turning to the Uruks. ”Right. I'm not gonna push ya any harder'n your krîtar would, but no less either. We're in this shit together now, Uruk and snaga alike. And I'm guessing ya already get this, but just in case; you bet your oversized black balls I'm not gonna back down, so if any of ya have a complaint to make, make it now.” He waited a little. ”Nar? Then hop to it! See that pile o' rocks off by the mines? That's our building material. I want every rock in that pile moved down to the gate an' sorted by size in three piles; big rocks to the left, small rocks to the right, the rest in the middle. You too, snaga! Move it!”  
All except Margzat, Mûrnaluzh, Urkhish and Praktash went off towards the mines to start carrying rocks. Ghrazagh was dragging his feet a little so Graznikh gave him a lick with the whip. The Uruk turned on him with a roar and Graznikh roared back just as loud. When he refused to back down, Graznikh took the whip in one hand and a knife in the other and began to advance on him with a menacing snarl. Ghrazagh backed away just before getting pounced and, strangely enough, gave Graznikh an appreciative nod as he walked away.  
  
Margzat watched them leave with mixed feelings; he had expected his pack to give the Lug-snaga a bit more to chew on than this. But then they had watched Graznikh fight, not only when he had bested Margzat during the spar but also as their paths crossed during the battle, and more than one had commented on him being a decent fighter – for a snaga, of course. The fact that they felt the need to add that last bit was praise enough. _Stop it,_ he reminded himself. _Bein' like 'at won't get ya anywhere._ He looked at Praktash instead; that sight was always sure to calm him down.  
”Quit it,” Praktash growled. ”Squirmin' won't help.”  
”Well, quit prodding it!” Mûrnaluzh growled back.  
”Poor widdle Mûrna, should I kiss it better?”  
”You bite me an' I'll pull yer fuckin' teeth out!”  
”I need to set the bones straight. If this heals at the wrong angle ya won't be able to use that arm again.”  
”Can't be that fuckin'- _fuck you!!_ ” he snarled as Praktash pinched both parts of the broken collarbone and jerked them back into place. Mûrnaluzh tried to bite him but was rewarded with a clawless slap. Margzat could not help but chuckle; that had no doubt been more humiliating than painful. Mûrnaluzh kept sulking in silence as Praktash prepared the strips of linen cloth that he used to wrap wounds with.  
”You should be grateful,” Praktash chirped as he began to clean and cover the arm wound with healing salve. ”You could be dead, or worse; made to join that poor lot by the mines. 'Zat really did ya a favour here.”  
”Shut up, crybaby.”  
Praktash yanked the bandage hard and Mûrnaluzh roared in pain. Once he fell silent, breathing heavily through his nose, Praktash leaned in close with a kind smile.  
”Wanna know what happened to Thagurz?”  
The krîtar's rival stopped growling and gave him a wide-eyed look.  
”He died,” Praktash continued, ”'cause he was an idiot who didn't respect poison. Don't be like him. You really should be more careful,” he purred quietly in his ear. ”Why would I fight ya when I could have ya shittin' brown water for the rest of the trip? Or I could make your cock stop workin'. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone else who knows the antidote for that one; I came up with it myself.”  
”Fuckin' sick bastard,” Mûrna growled, but now he looked a bit scared.  
”Mmm-hm.” He finished bandaging Mûrnaluzh and sauntered over to Margzat. The krîtar bared his fangs as Praktash squatted beside him.  
”What? Don't tell me you've grown afraid of needles since last time.”  
”This is your doin'.”  
He gave him an amused glance. ”Did you just accuse me of tellin' a High Officer what to do?”  
”I saw ya back there. Ya planted this in her head, didn'tcha?”  
Praktash only smiled in reply. ”If you're gonna yap about this all night, then maybe I should get the ropes out. But if ya want the special service, you'll hafta pay the special price.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Ye're a whore, Bukrazikh.”  
”That pretty much sums it up,” Praktash replied with a grin. ”But I'm a whore who might make the difference between you bein' fit for the next fight or dyin' of a silly fever in a week or two. So; what say ya?”  
”Bring it on, sweetie,” Margzat murmured and snapped his fangs in the air. ”Make it good.”  
  
  
The nights passed in relative monotony. Praktash joined the builders whenever he was not busy checking on his patients; Margzat and Mûrnaluzh followed suit as soon as they had healed enough to do so. Urkhish remained in the sick tent for another week before Praktash considered him stable enough to move around, but he was not allowed to exert himself and Margzat had to threaten him with a renewed concussion if he did not obey. Once the pile of rocks had been moved, Graznikh gathered Sulmurz and Margzat to prepare the next step. Záhovar listened to their discussion but did not interfere.  
”See this line here? That's the western side of the valley. Here's the eastern side, and it bends something like this. Then the ravine follows the western side before splitting off, and up here's the camp where we are now.” Graznikh drew on the cloth with a piece of coal, outlining a crude map of the area.  
”Would be smart to build the wall just inside where that plank wall is now,” Sulmurz said and pointed. ”Make a kinda pier out along the edge o' the ravine; good spot to post archers an' that way the enemy can't skirt the wall so easily.”  
”Why not build a wall along the ravine?” Margzat asked.  
”Might be smart to do so later, but for now it'll take too much time. Better to focus on the main defense line, then make improvements after.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”We won't have time to do much else. I'll leave the map in the stash room when we leave; the next builder'll decide whether they want to use the plans or not.”  
The workers began to shovel gravel and place the foundation for the wall, then they began constructing. Sulmurz's design was simple but effective; two stone walls, placed about five feet apart. The space inbetween was filled with gravel which was then stomped until it was packed hard enough for an armed Uruk to walk on top of it. It was slow and heavy work, but the result was a crude but sturdy wall that could not be broken by battering rams.  
  
The wall reached Margzat's chest by the time the Ruzh Moraut garrison marched up into the valley. The workers had quit for the night and he had taken a stroll along the new construction to get some air and clear his head, and so he was the first to catch the snuffler, who had been on guard and now came running up the pass.  
”Who's in charge of 'em?” he grunted before letting go.  
”Krîtar with lotsa scars in 'is face,” Mikbork reported. Margzat dropped him and let him scurry away before turning back to get his armour. _Garmadh, eh? This'll be interestin'.  
_ Graznikh and Margzat flanked Záhovar as she walked out to meet the krîtar. Garmadh recognised her in an instant and beat his fist on his chest in a salute.  
”Lug-durbatar!”  
”Krîtar,” Záhovar replied. Then she looked at the wagons that rolled into the camp, each pulled by four Uruks. ”Were there not slaves to tend them?”  
”They ran,” Gramadh replied with a disdainful snort.  
”And the draft animals..?”  
”Didn't run fast enough.”  
”Ah. And the supplies I requested..?”  
”All there, Lug-durbatar; checked them meself last night.”  
”Good. Have the hûrks set up camp on the eastern side, near the cliff; we leave by tomorrow's eve. Krîtar Margzat, show them the place, then you are free for the day.”  
”Aye, Lug-durbatar.”  
Graznikh joined Sulmurz once they were back inside the wall. He was watching the Uruks with a concerned frown.  
”There sure's a lot of 'em.”  
”Hopefully they're a bit more disciplined than the ones we've dealt with so far,” Graznikh commented.  
Sulmurz scowled. ”Not if they're anything like those I've met before, they're not. If anything, our krîtar's bunch's been downright docile.”  
Graznikh gave him an incredulous look. ”I thought they were supposed to be better'n 'regular'?”  
”Better at war, yeah, not better _better._ Most of 'em're bloody insane; Kraash is the paragon o' restraint in comparison.”  
”Ah, fuck.”  
Sulmurz nodded.

Praktash had hid in Záhovar's tent and was disinclined to leave it. He had had his fair share of Uruks in large numbers and for all his newfound confidence he was not eager to have to face the barrage of insults and unwelcome hands that would follow his face wherever he went.  
Having worked together seemed to be a good bonding exercise; Margzat's pack had relaxed noticeably around the 'snaga' and Golnauk had even joined them for a game of dice before bedtime the other morning. So had Urkhish, who was restless and bored after being stuck in the sickbed for so long. But Praktash did not doubt that things would go back to normal now that they were surrounded by others of their kind. But with the soldiers came new supplies, and eventually he had to leave the uncertain safety of the Officer's tent.  
”The _fuck_ is that?!” Garmadh exclaimed. Praktash pretended to ignore him. _That one sure hasn't been payin' attention._  
”Leave it Garmadh,” Margzat rumbled. ”He's way outta yer league. He's the kritauk's plaything, he is.”  
Garmadh spun with an expression that Praktash thought was a concerned frown. ”Not... Not Angathvôr?”  
Margzat shook his head and pointed. Garmadh looked in that direction, but saw only two snaga. ”Where?”  
”Got a new little star on the rise,” Margzat commented quietly. Graznikh noticed the Uruks looking at him and took leave of Sulmurz before sauntering up to where they sat. Margzat stood as he approached and gave him a nod. Garmadh stared as if he could not believe his eyes.  
”Hey, krîtari,” Graznikh greeted.  
Garmadh let out an amused snort. ”Ye're joking, right?” He looked to Margzat, who refused to answer. ”Someone made a _snaga_ kritauk? Why the fuck not you? Ya were as good as one already!”  
Margzat doggedly refused to speak, but a rumbling, insulted growl found its way up his throat.  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I'm the perfect height to shuck your nuts with my knife if ya try to ignore me, but be my guest; do try me an' see if I'm serious about it.” Praktash had to bite his lip at that. Garmadh stared at the little snaga for a moment, then he cracked his knuckles, stood and began to advance on him.

At first, Graznikh stood alone against the new krîtar. The next moment Praktash was at his side.  
”You wouldn't be fightin' him alone, y'know,” he told Garmadh.  
The krîtar grinned. ”Sweet face like yers shouldn't be pickin' fights with the big guys. Don'tcha worry, I'll stuff ya back an' front on top o' his smoking corpse once I'm done with him.”  
”Nar, ya won't.” Margzat barred his way, pushing the smaller Uruk backwards chest against chest. ”These are the High Officer's orders; Graznikh's kritauk, we fall in line. Ya disobey or question, 'at means ye're goin' rogue. Now go do yer fuckin' job as krîtar an' stop yer bloody rebel-talk!”  
Unlike with Graznikh, Garmadh did not even try to challenge Margzat. After throwing one last glance at the 'snaga' he shook his head, chuckled and walked off.  
”That was enlightening,” Graznikh commented dryly. ”Ya gonna step in every time someone questions my authority?”  
”If ye're gonna fight ev'ry battle yerself, ya won't have time for other stuff,” Margzat replied with a lopsided grin. ”Part o' bein' a commander's knowin' when and how to delegate; 'at's why we've got High an' Low Officers in the first place.”  
”And you think that job'd suit ya?”  
Margzat shrugged. ”I'm a krîtar. 'At _is_ my job already.” Then he grew serious. ”Bit o' advice, if ya care for it; don't go up alone 'gainst Garmadh. He's a wily sod; I wouldn't trust him with polishin' my boots if I can help it. Bloody idiot'd probably put nails inside 'em if he could get away with it.”  
”Good to know.” Graznikh gave Margzat a calculating look, just long enough to let him know that he was not trusted either. ”How about this then; you deal with the Uruks. Any command I have, you relay. Better that they get 'em from someone they can stand.”  
”As ya say, kritauk.” Margzat was quiet for a moment, then he briefly flashed a grin so genuine that it made Praktash's heart skip a beat. ”Knew I wouldn't regret goin' on this trip,” he chuckled. ”It's been bloody interestin' so far, an' I'm thinkin' it'll only get better.”

The horses that Danyal had given them waited in the roadside encampment they had used before the attack along with a few men that he had left to tend them. Záhovar left Margzat in charge and brought Praktash, Graznikh and Sulmurz down to take a look at what she had to work with.  
”You sure you've thought this through?” Praktash asked quietly as they walked. ”There won't be enough horses for everyone; how're we gonna get two full hûrks through the desert?”  
”I never planned to have you ride these horses,” Záhovar replied with a sly smile, ”they would not carry you and making them docile enough to do so is a feat of sorcery I cannot perform. But Danyal would never have given them over had he known my true plan; the Southrons are far too doting on their beasts. Among the supplies I sent for are large leather sacks, two for each horse. These sacks will be filled with water and tied to their saddles; it should be more than enough to last us until we reach the Crags.”  
”That's assuming we _do_ reach them,” Graznikh commented. ”'Three days' journey northeast from the Fords of Harnen' isn't as clear a direction as I'd like it to be.”  
”Navigating after the stars is a skill I know well,” Záhovar replied curtly.  
”Sure, so long as it's not cloudy.”  
Sulmurz snorted. ”Says the guy who's been bloody navigatin' those sands good enough to follow us outta sight _and_ stay undetected for weeks!”  
”That was different!”  
” _How_ was that different?”  
”Do you wish to do this?” Záhovar interrupted coldly. Graznikh lifted his head to glare at her with open rebellion in his eyes.  
”I wouldn't do this at all,” he snarled. ”What, we're just gonna saunter along into a deathtrap 'cause ya tell us to?”  
Three pairs of eyes looked at him as if the answer was obvious. ”Oh, for fuck's sake!” he exclaimed. ”Fine! Run me over! Who the fuck cares about ranks'n shit when ya only use 'em to make me mop up the shit you spray around- what the fuck is _wrong with ya?!!”_ The last words were aimed at Praktash, but thoroughly muffled since the Uruk had clamped his hands over Graznikh's mouth.  
”You go on ahead,” Praktash chirped to Záhovar with unveiled panic in his eyes. ”I got this!”  
Záhovar threw one glance at her fuming bodyguard, one glance at Sulmurz, then she marched off. Sulmurz scurried after her, but not before throwing one last wide-eyed look of ”are you insane?!” at Graznikh. Praktash let Graznikh go once they were out of sight.  
”Buddy, have you gone completely fuckin' mad now?!”  
Graznikh did not answer; he only glared in the direction Záhovar had disappeared. After a while his expression grew more and more distraught and eventually he turned and ran with Praktash close behind.  
  
”Wow,” Sulmurz said once he caught up with the High Officer. ”Looks like Kraash isn't the only one who's more'n a bit touched, eh?”  
”Do be silent.”  
”Right,” he whipered. ”Right.”  
Záhovar was beginning to grow concerned for real. Now that she had looked for it she had _seen_ the change in him, how the look in his eyes twisted into panic mingled with uncontrollable hate and anger; the kind that blamed her for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He had never seen, heard or read of anything like this and had no idea how to counter it if it was caused by sorcery like Praktash claimed. And she had no one to ask about it either; the only one in Lugburz with the kind of extensive arcane knowledge Záhovar sought was Gîrakûn, and asking her was out of the question for so many reasons. The only other sorcerer she knew was Dachman, and she had no intention to ask him questions of this sort when she found him. _It would seem that I stand alone in this as well. So be it..._  
Graznikh and Praktash were back in the outpost when she returned with Sulmurz, the horses and their oblivious caretakers. The horses grew more and more nervous the closer they got and Záhovar had them tied up and hobbled outside the wall. The stablehands were given a tent just inside it.  
The moment Graznikh felt Záhovar approach, he headed for the perimeter of the outpost as fast as his shaking legs would allow him. He felt sick. Most of all he wanted to simply run from it all, hide in some cave and hopefully die in some pointless battle that would put an end to it all. He stopped by the edge of the ravine and peered down into it; far below, the bodies of some enemy soldiers who had been pushed off the edge during the battle could be seen, their armour glinting in the moonlight.  
He did not dare to jump. For all his misery he still wanted to live, but if this was how his life would look then what point was there in prolonging it? The sound of bare feet reached his ears from behind him and he backed away from the edge and into Praktash's arms. The Uruk embraced him and gently pulled him further away from the abyss.  
”Now who's the coward?” Graznikh whispered. ”I don't even have the guts to kill myself when it'd be the smartest thing to do.”  
”You shut up about such things,” Praktash murmured. ”I don't plan on lettin' ya kill yourself or anyone else, unless they deserve it.”  
Graznikh shook his head to clear it and sank to his knees. Praktash sat down behind him.  
”Making me kritauk was the stupidest fucking thing she coulda done. I'm not fit to lead _anything_ in this state! Why couldn't she've made Margzat kritauk instead, he's the perfect Officer material!”  
”Quit bein' a snaga,” Praktash whispered back as he rubbed Graznikh's shoulders. ”That woulda just made things worse. He wouldn't take orders from a snaga, so it was you or Sulmurz. An' let's face it; Sully wouldn'ta lasted a day. He might be tough with his own kind, but he doesn't have the guts to stick it to the Uruks, 'specially not the krîtars. You do, an' you're doin' a bloody fine job of it too.”  
”'His kind', huh? What does that make me?”  
Praktash simply squeezed his shoulders. ”Don't give up now. Ya got me an' ya got 'Zat.”  
”And Ghrazagh, Lîrnash and Golnauk.”  
Praktash's eyes widened. ”What?”  
Graznikh grinned a little. ”They jumped me once you and Margzat were outta sight. They were all set on going the same way Margzat did, so the fight was more of a formality than any real threat.”  
Praktash stared at him for a moment. Then he grinned. ”So _that's_ why Lîrnash was limpin' like that! Don't tell me ya _did_ shuck his nuts.”  
”Nar, nothing like that. Just a bit o' a reminder.”  
  
  
”Well, aren't you two cute as all fuck?”  
Both Orc and Uruk turned to face Garmadh, who squatted beside them with a leer that made his excessively scarred face look even more disturbing than usual. Now that he was up close, Graznikh noticed that one of his lower fangs was broken.  
”Margzat told me all 'bout ya,” the krîtar said. ”So tell me; have ya ever actually led anything before, 'cept for that snaga rabble?”  
”Nar,” Graznikh answered casually. ”But seeing as lord Záhovar trained me herself, we figured it was time I got some hands-on practice.”  
”Hands-on, huh?” Garmadh suddenly looked a lot less sure of himself. He redirected his eerie, white gaze to Praktash and wrinkled his nose a little, leering even wider. ”I remember ya.”  
”Oh?” Praktash tried to look neutral, but Graznikh could feel him tense.  
”Khayri,” Garmadh purred. ”If I recall right, yer arse were ev'ry bit as sweet as yer face. I can see why the kritauk claimed ya for his own use.” He nodded towards the iron collar around Praktash's neck. ”Or maybe the High Officer rode ya first? A fine gift.” He winked.  
The smile on Praktash's face froze into a grimace of the same insane fear that permeated his scent, and Graznikh could feel him tremble. He jumped to his feet with a loud growl to distract the krîtar, but Garmadh quickly backed away and left, leaving only dark laughter behind.  
Graznikh glared after him but turned back when he heard a whimper from behind. Praktash was staring out into the empty air with wide eyes, tears streaming down his face, teeth chattering. He looked close to breaking point.  
”C'mon buddy, up ya go,” Graznikh said as he took his arm. After pulling him the his feet Graznikh dragged him along to the only place he knew was safe; Záhovar's tent. She was sitting at the makeshift desk that the former commander had left behind when they entered. Graznikh pushed Praktash onto the bed and gave him Záhovar's pillow. Praktash let out a sound like a dying goat before he buried his face in it to muffle the frantic scream that left his mouth.  
Záhovar shot up from the chair. ”What happened?”  
As Graznikh briefed her, he felt some measure of satisfaction over the fact that the furious look in her eyes perfectly matched his own feelings.  
”Garmadh, you say?”  
”Yeah, the new krîtar. The one who met us in Ruzh Moraut.”  
She nodded. ”Stay here, comfort him as best you can.”  
Graznikh dared to look her in the eye for a moment. ”Ya gonna kill him?”  
”No. I am going to do something worse.”  
  
Margzat was in the middle of a game of Orc'n Tarks with Sulmurz when Záhovar stopped beside them.  
”Follow me,” she commanded. Margzat obeyed with a nod to Sulmurz, who rose as well.  
”Where is Garmadh?” she asked.  
”I'm thinkin' he stays with the others,” Margzat replied. ”Haven't seen him since I left 'em to their own devices.”  
”Then you are unaware that he threatened to rape Praktash?”  
Margzat nodded grimly. ”I was there. He tried to attack kritauk Graznikh as well.”  
”I see. Did you also know that he made an attempt to make real that threat a short while ago?”  
Margzat could hardly believe his ears. ”He what?! Oh, that stupid fuck..!”  
”Sounds like the krîtar's gonna turn krivâkal after this is over,” Sulmurz snickered. He stopped when Margzat glared at him. ”What?”  
Garmadh was asleep when they found him. Margzat woke him up with a kick.  
”Lug-durbatar,” he saluted. ”All's set an' ready to-”  
”I did not come for a report,” Záhovar said. ”I hear you have met my Lug-snaga.”  
Garmadh grinned. ”Aye.”  
Záhovar held up a finger. ”First; his name is Praktash. If I ever hear of you calling him by any other name, I will cut your tongue out. Second; his past is no business of yours. Whatever you imagine happened back then will _stay_ there. If you ever try or speak of laying so much as a finger on him, I will pluck every part you use or mention from your worthless body. Third; Uruks, hold him down and strip him bare!”  
Sulmurz hid behind Záhovar as Margzat fell on his fellow krîtar with a thundering roar. Several of the other Uruks joined him and soon Garmadh lay naked on the ground, arms and legs pinned down. Záhovar gave Sulmurz a fond glance.  
”Drartul.”  
”...Huh? Yeah, uh... Lug-durbatar.”  
She held out a hand. ”Your whip.”  
He quickly untied it from his belt and placed it in her hand. She gave the handle a few suggestive strokes and gave him a seductive little smile until Sulmurz could not decide whether he should look at her hand or her face. Then she turned to Garmadh, who struggled as he watched the whip uncoil.  
”This is for challenging the kritauk's authority; _my_ authority. It is for attempting to damage my property and for disobedience. It is your own responsibility to find out what rules apply when you enter the service of a High Officer.”  
Garmadh's grunts soon turned into roars as the whip bit deep, and then into howls of pain that echoed among the cliffs.  
  
”Sounds like he's paying dearly for slightin' ya,” Graznikh commented. Praktash did not answer; his face was still buried in the pillow. Graznikh watched him for a while before attempting to reach out to him again. ”Did ya recognise that guy?”  
After a while, Praktash shook his head. ”Nar. That's the worst part; I don't fuckin' _remember!_ How come I can't?! I mean, a face like that isn't somethin' you forget so bloody easy!”  
”You can say that again. But maybe he got those scars after..?”  
”Still,” Praktash whispered while picking at a crease in the blanket. ”I can barely remember anythin', and what I do remember...” He shuddered. ”I don't know which parts are real, nightmares or stuff my head made up afterwards to fill in gaps. An'... I don't know what would be worse, the reality or the nightmares.” He met Graznikh's gaze. ”If I don't remember _him,_ then... How many others are there that i don't remember? What if they _all_ know me, but shut up about it when I'm around? What do they say 'bout me when I'm not there? What if... What if 'Zat _too_... Nar, nar!”  
”I don't think he'd ever do something like that,” Graznikh replied. ”Doesn't strike me as that kinda guy.”  
”Can't refuse a High Officer's command,” Praktash whispered. ”To question is to fail.”  
”Buddy, you've done both, and you did a bloody fine job of it too.”  
The corner of Praktash's mouth twitched a little. ”You're bloody good at throwin' my own words back at me.”  
”Just trying to fit into my new role of being an annoying little kritauk pest,” Graznikh said with a grin, and now Praktash actually smiled a little.  
Graznikh frowned. ”What was that word he called ya? Khayri.”  
Praktash's eyes widened. ”Nar...”  
”D'ya know what it means?”  
”Don't say that!”  
Graznikh retreated a little. ”Fine. Didn't mean to...”  
”I've never heard it before,” Praktash whispered. ”I've never heard it before! But still it scares the shit outta me! It's fuckin' _crawlin'_ inside! An' I don't know why, I keep havin' all these feelings an' I don't know where they come from or why they're even there in the first place!”  
”Hey.” Praktash's frantic tirade was interrupted as something bumped his shoulder. Graznikh held out his drinking skin.  
”Wanna drink? Been savin' it.”  
”...Gimme.”  
  
Záhovar stopped whipping and admired her handiwork. Garmadh was still conscious enough to look at her as she lifted his chin with her foot.  
”So... Drartul.”  
”Huh?” Sulmurz answered.  
”Not you.” She nodded towards Garmadh. ”Garmadh; I hereby lower you to the rank of drartul. Krîtar Margzat will take command of the hûrks and you will answer to him. Be grateful that I do not lower you further.” She dropped his head back down and went over to Margzat.  
”You have done well, krîtar, and you have my favour for the time being. See to it that this does not repeat itself.”  
”Ya have my word, Lug-durbatar,” he replied. ”Ya heard that, maggots?! Ya should be bloody grateful; I'm a fuckin' softie compared to this Officer!” There were a few grins and nods at that.  
Záhovar held Sulmurz's gaze as she returned the whip. ”Will you clean it for me?”  
”Clean an' polish,” he replied breathlessly. ”Don'tcha worry, it'll be as good as new when ya need it next!”  
”Hmm,” Záhovar said with a displeased little scowl. ”I am not overly fond of new whips. I prefer them... well broken-in. They tend to last longer.”  
She was close, oh she was so close that he could smell her breath! His breath quickened as a soft, warm finger slowly trailed the tip of his jagged ear and Sulmurz gave her a pleading look, oblivious to all else.  
”Which reminds me,” she said as she broke contact abruptly and disrupted the wonderful moment. ”Uruki! Are there any among you with the skill and training to care for horses?”  
About fifteen of them raised a hand. ”Good; then I have such a task for you.”  
”I thought the Southron left snaga?” Margzat asked. Záhovar's face cracked up in a deranged, bloodthirsty leer as she turned to face him.  
”Why would I waste precious water on snaga when I have Uruks who can do the job just as well _and_ fight when that time comes? They are in a tent near the gate. You did post guards on the wall, I hope.”  
”Aye, I did. No one'll get in or out without them spottin' it.”  
”Good. The snaga are yours to do with -  _play_ with - however you please. Keep them to yourself or hand them over to the others; I do not care. Think of it as a reward for all your hard work on the wall, as well as a taste of what is to come.”  
The news spread like wildfire through the Uruk camp and Margzat could not keep the grin off his face as she left. Neither could Sulmurz, who was purring loudly.  
”Bloodthirsty one, eh?” Margzat chuckled.  
”Uh-huh. What a _lady!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Za-nûlgbal nûkhurk nûgakmogat za-nûturz nûkhur - The resolute nûkhurk tortures the grey crawler  
> Za-krimp krimpat za-krîtar zûk krûn krivâkal zaur krûrbatârkû - The rope binds the krîtar until he feels bent like an old cleptomaniac  
> Kritauk – the highest rank in the command line of the moving troops  
> Vraut – walk, go  
> Krivâkal – bent, humbled


	14. Things That Go Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All work and no play in this chapter. The next will be the opposite.

Spirits were decidedly high among the Uruks as they marched the following evening, just after sunset. The Orcs were a bit more subdued; the pace was hard due to their shorter legs and they made sure to keep their distance from the larger soldiers. Záhovar had chosen one of the horses for herself; the others were loaded with tents and water and the rations had been distributed so that every soldier carried his own share. If someone ran out due to theft or eating too much, then that was nobody's problem but their own.  
They encountered a few of Danyal's warriors about halfway to the ford. They reported that the ford had been fortified by the tarks and that Danyal had intercepted messengers that had revealed that they were in league with the forces at the Crags. It was old news, but Záhovar thanked them nonetheless and sent them to inform him that her forces were moving.  
Praktash remained glued to either Graznikh or Záhovar and made sure to keep well away from Garmadh and the new Uruks. Strangely enough, the members of the old uzhâk remained close to the snaga and formed a shield of sorts between them and the other Uruks. Ghrazagh, Lîrnash and Golnauk seemed especially intent on keeping mutual harassment to a miminum and ganged up on anyone who tried to overstep the invisible boundaries in camp. Graznikh noticed this and made a comment about it to Margzat, who laughed.  
”It's bloody queer, it is,” the krîtar rumbled with a big grin. ”Their pack sense's gone haywire. Ye're havin' a bad influence on us, Bukrazikh,” he told Praktash.  
Praktash snorted. ”This isn't my fault!”  
”Might as well be. Ya started it, hangin' out with the snaga like ya do. An' ye're not as far down the line as ya think; some take what ye're doin' as leadin' by example, 'specially now when we've a snaga kritauk and after we've all been workin' together on that outpost.”  
He grinned as Praktash looked down with another, quieter snort. ”What, Bukrazikh? Don't like it?”  
”Nar, it's not that. It's just... This whole trip's been like runnin' in the mountains; up, down, up, down, up, down. I dunno where it'll all end, an' I didn't think that stunt she pulled with the elevation'd work out so well.”  
”We all wanna see this through,” Margzat rumbled as he stood. ”Just doin' what we hafta to make it happen.”  
Graznikh leaned closer as Margzat left. ”Ya okay, buddy?”  
Praktash nodded. ”Horny, though.”  
”Oho..?”  
”Nar,” he said with a grin as he spotted the look Graznikh gave him. ”Not now. Too many pryin' eyes, I don't want 'em to form a line.”  
”Ya really think they'd do that?”  
”Not gonna risk it. Not everyone's as law-abidin' as 'Zat.”  
Graznikh shrugged and turned away, missing the sly look on Praktash's face.  
  
One night as they made camp during the late watches, Sulmurz sneaked away to get a moment to himself. Záhovar's constant wordless teasing made his pants increasingly uncomfortable, but he did not dare to remove them to wipe the precum off in full view of the others. There was too much buggering going on already and Sulmurz wanted no part in it, especially not when Uruks were involved. After hiding behind a wind-carved rock and making sure he had not been followed, he removed his pants and drew a knife.  
His thoughts returned to Záhovar as he scraped the dried-in grime off the leather. She was so _fine!_ That confidence, that ruthlessness, that sway! She was everything Sulmurz could ask for in a woman. He did not get it when the others talked about her 'odd looks'. Sulmurz had no opinion on physical attractiveness; that was among the last things he cared for when judging a possible mate. For him, 'looking good' was the same as 'looking strong'; who cared about physical appearance when faced with a dominant woman? That was what made his dick wake up with a big smile. And in his eyes, Záhovar was a high-ranking High Officer who fit the role and his cock like a glove. Eventually, Sulmurz could not resist having a wank to that thought. He tossed the somewhat cleaner pants aside and leaned an arm against the rock, tugging his cock with muffled groans. And so he never noticed the shadow falling over him.  
He yelped in surprise as his head was yanked back, but it was soon muffled by a rag shoved into his mouth. Another was wrapped around the lower part of his face just as fast and tied tight. As he brought his hands up to remove it they were yanked up and back and tied as well. Bound and helpless he hit the ground with a thud. The brief glimpse of a wisp of red hair confirmed what scent had already told him of his assailant's identity.  
Praktash did not bother with a full-on rape; he just wanted to get off as quickly as possible. He simply smeared Sulmurz's buttocks with lube, pressed them tightly together and thrust hard between them until he came, gasping and moaning obscene little nothings against his neck. After spending himself twice, he wrote something with black spunk on his victim's lower back and wiped his hands and cock on his thigh before getting up.  
”Thanks for the ride, Sully,” he whispered and violated his ear with his tongue before he cut the bonds. Then he was gone before Sulmurz could get up and pay him back in blood.  
Sulmurz sat up, hyperventilating from fear and disgust. Then anger overtook his fear and he furiously began rubbing himself with sand to get the repulsive goo off and calm his thundering heart. _I'm gonna kill that sick Uruk, I swear I'm gonna fucking tear him apart!_  
  
Danyal found them after a few nights' march.  
”I do not recommend going any further,” he said as he maneuvered his horse next to Záhovar's. ”The ford is completely overrun by the Numenorean fleet; we may have the numbers on our side, but destroying the outpost here will only serve to draw their attention. If we leave the road here we will still go in the right direction to find the Crags.”  
”How would it aid Lugburz to leave enemies alive behind us?”  
”That... would keep them from sending spies after us.”  
Záhovar gave him an impassive look. ”And they do not have any spies as it is? No, tribesleader; I will not make that mistake.”  
Danyal frowned. ”Is this what we came here for?”  
”Not you perhaps. I, on the other hand, have personal reasons for wanting this place leveled.”  
”They're tarks, who the fuck cares if they live or die?” Graznikh growled from his place atop Akûl's back. ”I say we kill 'em.”  
Záhovar smirked. ”My sentiment exactly. I am glad we agree on this at least. Krîtar, set your Uruks on them; raze the place to the ground and burn the fortifications! Leave none alive.”  
  
The battle was brief and bloody, just the way Margzat liked them. The tarks stood no chance against over a hundred fully armed Black Uruks flanked by Southron horsemen. Those who tried to flee on boats were quickly shot down and the fires lit the dunes from afar as they left the burning ford behind. A few prisoners ended much like the Southron stablehands had; raped or tortured and eventually eaten.  
Three days' journey was not long, not in theory at least. But with no other protection from the burning sun than flimsy tent cloth and no shelter from the stinging wind, the days were utter misery. Their armour grew so hot during the day that they had to wait until well after nightfall before they could put it on without suffering burns. Praktash had to treat quite a few of them before they all got the message. The temperature at night fell down to freezing point and the Orcs and Uruks shivered as they ran. But they saw no attackers; Danyal's warriors made sure to clear out before them or distract enemy forces so that no word of the Uruk force would reach the Crags before it was too late. During the late watches of the third night, an eerie shape rose above the dunes before them to their left, barely visible in the mist. Graznikh breathed a sigh of relief; had they been just a little bit further west, they would have missed it altogether.  
That morning they made camp on the desert floor between two dunes, where the wind had swept the sand away to reveal a small, smooth field of crumbly salt, after carefully testing the ground to make sure that it was solid.  
”Say what ya will 'bout those Southrons,” Margzat commented as he sat down by the sheltered fire. ”But they come in bloody handy at times.”  
”Last day before the battle,” Graznikh murmured and returned the leer Ghakû gave him. ”Lookin' forward to tasting tark blood again.”  
”Hey, drugdealer,” Golnauk said to Praktash. ”Ya gonna join us this time?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Not much point in comin' all this way if I get myself killed, is there?”  
Urkhish gave him a thoughtful look. ”Ever shot a bow before?”  
”Yeah, but I don't have one.” He frowned as Urkhish nodded towards Graznikh.  
”Kritauk, not to bother, but... Ya had a bow earlier. Where's it gone?”  
”Left it on one o' the pack nags,” Graznikh replied. ”Why?”  
”If ye're not gonna use it, how 'bout giving it to Praktash? I could show 'im a thing or two, how to aim'n shoot. Then he could be back with us archers, see the battle but not get up close in the first charge. Might wanna keep the healer outta the fray, so to speak.”  
Graznikh gave Praktash a thoughtful look. ”Ya know, that's not a bad idea. You're not half bad for a beginner, buddy. It could work.”  
Praktash shut his mouth and nodded meekly. The kritauk had spoken.  
  
Soon, he found himself standing in a clear space outside of camp. The Sun had not yet risen above the dune and the salt flat still lay in sweet shade. Golnauk was holding a worn-out round shield which was used as a target and Praktash held the odd little bow Graznikh had lent him. Urkhish was adjusting his pose with words and hands.  
”Elbow up a li'l, like 'at. Use both eyes when ya aim, makes it easier. When th' target's movin', ya aim in front o' it. Like this.”  
He shouted for Golnauk to roll the shield along the ground. As he did so, Urkhish waited until it was almost in front of him before drawing his large warbow and shooting it down. It looked so easy.  
Then he had Praktash do the same. On the first try, his arrow glanced the edge of the shield and toppled it without sticking. He missed the next three attempts.  
”Take it slower,” Urkhish instructed. ”Don't hold yer breath when ya draw, it'll only tire ya out an' make ya shake. Wait 'til th' target's right where ya want it, then draw an' shoot in one go. Don't go waitin' with the bow drawn, 'at's wasted energy.” On Praktash's next try, the arrow hit the shield almost in the center.  
”This brings back memories,” Graznikh murmured with a grin. He and a few of the others squatted nearby, watching the practice.  
Margzat shot him a grin. ”Ya wanna try?”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, this is his moment. Don't wanna ruin it.”  
”Ye're that bad, huh?”  
”Nar, I'm that _good._ ”  
”I'm thinkin' ye're crap.” He gave Margzat an incredulous glare which the krîtar answered with a friendly but challenging leer. ”One ration says ya can't hit a bucket from ten feet off.”  
”Two rations says I could hit that _shield_ when thrown _away_ from me a hundred an' fifty feet off!”  
Margzat laughed out loud, distracting Praktash who missed the target with a curse.  
”Will you keep it down? Some of us're tryin' to focus here!”  
”I'm thinkin' ya might hafta wait a little,” Margzat chuckled. ”We just got an upstart challenger here. Though I'm thinkin' one ration is a bit small for a wager like 'at.”  
Praktash frowned in confusion until Margzat loudly proclaimed the bet and the stakes. Several of the others joined in; Kraash even betted against him.  
”What kinda supporter are you really?” Graznikh complained.  
”A smart one,” Kraash snickered. Soon a large crowd had gathered to watch the kritauk make a fool of himself.  
Graznikh reminded himself to breathe as he took the bow from Praktash and checked the string while Margzat stepped up the distance. He made sure the feathers on the arrow were as straight as possible and that he held the bow so that it would be balanced. Then he reminded himself to breathe again as Margzat took the shield from Golnauk.  
”Ready, kritauk?”  
A murmur went through the crowd; some of the Uruk newcomers had apparently missed the detail of Graznikh's rank. Graznikh cursed under his breath. _I'll probably have to eat that up later._ Then he nodded.  
  
Margzat threw and the shield shot out of his hand and up into the air as if fired from a trebuchet. Graznikh waited until he thought it was at the right distance before he drew and released the arrow. He felt his knees go weak from relief as it hit the edge of the shield with an audible smack and made it spin. Those who had betted in his favour began to cheer, but quickly fell silent as three more arrows hit the shield in rapid succession just before it landed well over two hundred feet away. Suddenly all the Uruks were eyeing the surrounding dunes for enemy snipers.  
”The fuck..?” Urkhish breathed nearby. Golnauk ran off to fetch the shield and brought it back.  
”They're too small to be ours. Not tark either, those've white feathers.”  
When Graznikh spotted the little arrows, he began to laugh. ”Snuffler? Get over here.”  
Mikbork looked uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed as he came closer. Then he squeaked as Graznikh grabbed his shirt and pulled him close. He took an arrow from the snuffler's quiver and showed it to the others.  
”Well, now I know who to stick close to tonight,” Praktash said with a big grin. ”With an archer like this at my side I'll feel right safe an' comfy!”  
Mikbork gave him an unsure grimace and swallowed hard as Graznikh stared him down.  
”Get your arrows and get outta here. Next time ya wanna take part in this kinda stuff, say so first.”  
Mikbork nodded and yanked his arrows out of the shield before he scurried off.  
”That was mean,” Praktash commented.  
”Should be bloody happy he's alive,” Golnauk said. ”Stupid snaga, messin' things up.”  
”Well, looks like ya won,” Margzat grinned. ”Too bad; I was hungry.”  
”Give 'em to Praktash,” Graznikh said while cracking his knuckles with a wicked leer. ”He'll keep an eye on 'em for me. I'm gonna have some fun shaking it outta Kraash when I find him.”  
Oddly enough, when Praktash gave him the rations he had won on the bet later that day, there were not as many of them as Graznikh thought there would be. And for some inexplicable reason, Mikbork had enough to go to sleep with a full belly and a happy grin on his face.  
”You're too soft,” Graznikh whispered as he and Praktash went to sleep.  
”Fair's only fair,” Praktash whispered back and yawned. ”He did win.”  
”Now you're sounding like Margzat.”  
Praktash's only reply was a chuckle. Then he buried his face in Graznikh's shaggy hair and fell asleep with a contented sigh. Sulmurz was still nowhere in sight and Graznikh promised himself to check up on him before they left for the battle.  
  
  
The attack came early that evening, when the Orcs were still asleep and trusting in the guards that Danyal had posted. A frantic horn call that was abruptly cut off woke the entire camp and the Uruks began roaring challenges as the mounted enemy force came pouring down the tall dune. Margzat was up and bellowing commands in no time and those with shields soon had a crude shield wall up with assorted spears and other pointy weapons sticking out towards the enemy. The initial charge broke through with both sides taking losses; soon the camp was a chaos of screams, bellows and the cries of the dying. Graznikh and Praktash would have been trampled if Akûl had not grabbed the charging horse's throat like he and Graznikh had practised so many times while on their own out in the desert and broke its neck with a twisting yank; the young warg had become a master at downing horses.  
Danyal led his riders in a flank charge as the enemy were regrouping well out of the Uruks' reach. He had a completely different tactic; as the riders reached the flats, they turned left and right and surrounded the enemy, sending javelins and arrows hailing down on them. Then they scattered and fled. A small group pursued them, clearly against the orders of their loudly cursing commander, and were destroyed to the last man as the Southron riders swarmed them. Danyal's force took no losses whatsoever as they circled the Uruks briefly before forming up for a second charge.  
”Archers!” Margzat roared. ”Let 'em fly!”  
Graznikh ordered the Orcs to guard Záhovar, but she was clearly not in the mood to stay out of trouble. Once she was dressed she led them out onto the field of battle, stopping behind Margzat's troops who had reformed the shield wall. Sulmurz suddenly appeared out of nowhere and Graznikh grabbed him by the neck with a snarl.  
”Where the fuck've you been?!”  
”Off... outta the way,” he croaked.  
”Why? Didn't I tell ya to stick close?”  
Sulmurz did not reply, but he threw Praktash a frightened glance. The Uruk glanced back and his little smile told Graznikh everything he needed to know. He let Sulmurz go with a snort.  
”Next time ya stick close, _no matter_ what happens. I don't have time to sort out more drama! That means you too buddy,” he growled at Praktash. ”Don't make this fuckin' harder for me than it has to be.”  
  
Meanwhile, Záhovar had been surveying the battlefield. Margzat's Uruks were tired and several of them were shaking as if suffering some affliction, no doubt from sun exposure. Now that Danyal was harrying the enemy force, they could not gather strength for a charge but Margzat had the shield wall stand fast just in case.  
Suddenly a cry went up from a few of the riders. They began to look down on the ground and several from both sides broke and fled. Then all the horses in one group fell as one and disappeared under ground as if sucked down by some giant, hungry beast. The hard, salt-covered ground was solid enough to carry men on foot and even Uruks, but the horses' trampling had broken the crust enough to turn the entire area into a bottomless lake of salty, corrosive sludge. Záhovar smiled.  
”Stand fast!” she cried as the Uruks began to panic. Margzat stared at her like she was insane, but then he felt the air grow colder. He met the High Officer's confident eyes and soon mirrored her expression. ”Uruki, SHAKROP!!”  
The ground that had previously been softening suddenly grew solid again as Záhovar thrust the tip of her glaive through the surface. Before them, a large group of the enemy riders had been surrounded by the breaking ground.  
”Shield wall,” Margzat bellowed, ”forward MARCH!” As the Uruks advanced, the enemy tried to charge but the ground broke beneath them as they did so and several of the horses fell, dragging their riders down with them. The Uruks could move without fear thanks to the magically frozen crust underneath their feet and slowly but surely, the entirety of the remaining enemy force was pushed into an early grave.

Danyal dismounted his horse and came down as they broke camp.  
”That was truly impressive,” he said reverently. ”I have sent my men ahead. There will-”  
”How come your guards did not see a force this size coming?” Záhovar asked coolly. In reply, Danyal held up three little darts with tufts of feathers in one end.  
”Blow pipes,” he explained. ”An assassin's weapon; these darts are coated with a deadly poison.”  
”Can I have a look at 'em?” Praktash asked. ”Might learn somethin' new.” He took them as Záhovar nodded.  
”They know that we are coming now,” Danyal continued. ”My men missed one of them. They will return in greater numbers.”  
”Then we move,” Záhovar decided.  
Margzat immediately relayed the order. ”Uruki! We march!”  
”I sure hope we take that stronghold,” Sulmurz said. ”They cut our pack nags loose'n they bolted. No water left, 'side from what we're carrying ourselves.”  
They left the dead behind, counting their losses as they marched. Záhovar used sorcery to cool the armours and silently cursed herself for not having that idea sooner, and once they all had their cloaks to shield from the worst of the sun they felt a lot better. Without the water, the mission had suddenly become a life-or-death one for real; either they took the enemy base that night, or died of thirst the next day.  
Záhovar pulled Praktash aside for a chat while they walked. ”Not again.”  
”Not again what?”  
”You will not lay a finger on him again. Dare not shake your head as if you do not know what I mean! He is _mine,_ and I will not have you ruin him before I am done with him.”  
”Ruin..? It was just a quickie, nothin' serious!”  
Záhovar wagged a finger at him with a smile. ”You have plenty of toys to play with already. Leave this one for me.”  
”But they're not nearly as fun!” Praktash protested merrily. Then he chuckled. ”Fine, keep him! I'm not gonna steal a High Officer's playthings.”  
”No, I daresay that is my task.”  
Praktash frowned. ”What?”  
”Never mind. Leave him be for now. Should I change my mind, you will be the first to know.”  
  
Luckily, the Crags were impossible to miss now that the air was clear. It rose inexplicably up from the sand like a red, many-pinnacled fortress. Unfortunately, the sight of it did not improve anything but the Uruks' mood. As soon as the first of them reached the top of the dune, he exploded with laughter. The second one did so as well, and soon the whole army were rolling on the sand, howling with laughter. Margzat bit his lip to keep from laughing as well but could not keep a snorting snicker down, and Praktash looked like he had won first prize.  
”I LOVE IT!!!” he howled and fell to his knees in front of Záhovar. ”Can we keep that?! Please, please, _please_ say we can keep it!”  
”Well...” she began, but then arched an eyebrow at Danyal. The Southron leader was blushing furiously.  
”Yes, well...” he began and cleared his throat. ”I... was not sure how I would bring this up.”  
”I'd say it's up already,” Graznikh replied with a leer.  
”It's _dicks,_ ” Praktash squealed with stars in his eyes. ”It's a fortress made of _cocks_! Say you'll take that as your stronghold, _pleeeaaase!!_ ”  
”Tempting,” Záhovar murmured with a thoughtful, lecherous little smile.  
”This sure's gonna be one giant cockfight, isn't it?” Graznikh chuckled as he eyed the peculiar structure. As the desert wind swept the basalt cliffs it slowly ate away at the rock, sculpting it into sometimes nightmarish shapes. But in the Crags, the wind had suddenly turned naughty and shaped a few of the giant stone pillars into suspiciously phallic shapes.  
”I do bloody hope they've got some women in there,” Sulmurz snarled. ”I've had enough o' cock for a lifetime; if I don't get cunt soon, I'mma kill something that isn't a tark!” He stuttered a little as Záhovar gave him a sharp look.  
Once Margzat had regained control of his soldiers, they continued. Over thirty of them had fallen in the skirmish, but there were still well over seventy left; an intimidating number and one that would hopefully be enough to root out the last of the raiders.  
There were several cracks and caves near the base of the cliff, but most of them were dead ends. They found five that seemed to go deeper, and three of them had newly made hoof- and foot-prints at the entrance. Margzat split his forces up into uzhâks – groups of ten – and sent three of them inside to scout. One group soon came back out; their cave had also been a dead end. The second one returned with news of a large spring with green plants surrounding it; the oasis that Danyal had mentioned. The third did not return.  
”Fuck this; let's just swarm the place,” Graznikh muttered. ”A proper raiding band woulda cleared the place by now.”  
”Do you wish to do this?” Záhovar asked.  
He ignored the half-choked snickering from the nearby Uruks and gave the surrounding cliffs a calculating look. ”Depends. Do I have my hands free?”  
”What are you planning?”  
”Depends on what I find.” He turned to the Orcs. ”How many of ya know how to climb?”  
Mikbork reluctantly stepped forward. So did Kraash after being pushed to it by Ghakû. Graznikh gave him a sceptical look.  
”What?” Kraash said. ”Mountain Orc here, the fuck d'ya expect?”  
”...Fine. But you'll stay in front o' me and I'll be keeping an eye on ya.”  
”Yeah, you like looking at that side, don'tcha?” He laughed and grunted as Graznikh punched his shoulder.  
”Move it, or I'll go kritauk on both sides o' ya!”  
  
Praktash gnawed his lip as he watched them leave. Now that he was up close, he did not like the feel of this place at all. It was the same creepy-crawly sensation as Blog Shakâmb gave him, or any place where the very ground was saturated with sorcery. _I wouldn't be suprised if the Dead came crawlin' up through the sand._ He was so distracted by the feeling of ill omen that he nearly howled out loud as a pair of heavy hands landed on his shoulders. He turned on Margzat with a snarl and began to punch and slap him. The krîtar only chuckled as he grabbed his wrists and pulled him out of sight from the others behind a rocky outcropping. Záhovar gave them a narroweyed glare, but let them go.  
”The fuck is wrong with ya?!” Praktash hissed. ”Let me go!”  
”Not 'til this is sorted, I won't.”  
Praktash pulled free so hard that Margzat's claws raked his arms. ”Unless you've noticed, we're on the verge of a bloody fight here! I don't have time for small talk, least of all with you.”  
”Unless the Officer says otherwise, we're not doin' anything 'til the kritauk's back. Got all the time we want 'til then.”  
Praktash shrugged and began to leave, but was halted by Margzat's arm. The krîtar caught him again by backing him up against the cliff and leaning his elbows against it on both sides of the drugdealer's smaller body. Praktash flailed a little in protest but froze as Margzat pressed his forehead against his and began to finger the tips of his ears.  
”Stop that.”  
”Ya don't like it?”  
”Does it matter? Just stop it, I'm not gonna fuck ya out here.”  
”I'm not lookin' for a fuck.”  
”Then what d'ya want?”  
Margzat stopped fingering. ”I'm thinkin' ya don't want it to end with all this bad blood between us.”  
”What're you talkin' about? You're gonna go rogue?”  
That made the krîtar chuckle. ”Nar! But I've seen folks die in the stupidest ways; wouldn't be the first time a force came back without its commander. I don't wanna go without solvin' this.”  
Praktash frowned. ”Why do you care?”  
”Does it matter? Take it or leave it.”  
”...Fine. Out with it.”  
”Ya still pissed at me for what happened after th' last battle?”  
He shook his head and looked away. ”More pissed at myself.”  
”Don't be. I didn't mock ya, by the way.”  
”I know that,” Praktash said and winced. ”Figured that out once I'd calmed down.”  
Margzat grinned a little. ”So we done?”  
”What about the cryin'?” Praktash asked with a challenge in his eyes.  
”What about it?”  
”Well, what're you thinkin' about that? I'm a coward an' a crybaby.”  
Margzat retreated a little to look at him. Praktash gave him a stony look back. After what felt like an eternity, the krîtar's face cracked up in a wicked little leer.  
”Ye're bloody cute when ye're poutin', Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash could not believe his ears. ”I'm not poutin'!”  
”Sure ya are.”  
”Like _fuck_ I am! Hey, watch it, I bite!” he snarled as Margzat nuzzled his cheek.  
”So do I,” came the answer back, whispered into his ear and followed by the twin tips of a split tongue.  
”This isn't fair,” Praktash breathed as he melted from the krîtar's warm touch. Why did that bastard have to have a tongue like that and know so well how to use it? Praktash decided to return the favour and now it was Margzat's turn to gasp and purr.  
”Might have a treat for ya later, after the battle's over,” he purred into the krîtar's ear.  
”Treat, izzit?” Margzat grinned. ”Now I'm curious.”  
”You'll see,” Praktash whispered with a wink and a leer. ”It's a surprise.”  
”Well, now I just hafta survive, won't I? Wouldn't rest easy knowin' I'd left a treat behind. 'Specially from you.”  
”Now you're just bein' cute about it.” Praktash grinned back, but his face twisted into a mask of vicious rage as Garmadh came into view. Margzat gave him an almost shocked look before he realised that it was not aimed at him.  
”Kritauk's back,” Garmadh reported. ”Wants to talk to ya.” Then he arched an eyebrow at Praktash. ”Thought that was the kritauk's plaything.”  
”'At's none o' yer business.”  
”Nar?” Garmadh leered. ”Wonder what he'd say if he knew?”  
”He already knows,” Praktash interjected. ”An' I'm no one's plaything but my own. I'm the High Officer's personal snaga; I talk to whomever I want an' I fuck whomever I want, an' _that's_ none of your business!”  
”That so?” Garmadh chuckled. ”Heard ya were a weakling who weeps like a tark when ya don't get what ya want.”  
”Well, it works great, doesn't it?” Praktash replied with an obnoxiously smug grin and a wink to Margzat. ”After all, 't'wasn't me who lost my rank. Amazin' what a few words in the right ear can do.”  
Garmadh growled and began to advance, but a warning growl from Margzat made him hesitate. ”And why the fuck does anyone listen to a prissy plashnak like you?”  
”I wouldn't use that word like it's somethin' bad,” Praktash snickered. ”The plashnak in charge of this whole expedition might take offense. As for how I got there; by suckin' cock to those above an' givin' it to those below.”  
Margzat frowned in confusion. ”How d'ya suck someone off who doesn't have a cock?”  
Praktash cracked up into an insane wide-eyed grin, held up two fingers and fluttered his tongue between them. Then he patted Margzat's armoured shoulder and strutted away.  
”The fuck's wrong with 'at one?” Garmadh muttered. Margzat simply shook his head with a bewildered frown.

When Praktash returned, Záhovar was talking to Sulmurz. Graznikh stood near the entrance to the caves, shoulders hunched and fists tightly clenched. He hurried over to him.  
”What happened?”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nothing, just... Nothing.”  
Praktash looked up and gave Záhovar a worried look. She discreetly shook her head to him before adressing Margzat.  
”The ceiling within is full of holes,” she said. ”That was how the third uzhâk died; the enemy shot them from above before they knew what happened. Send your force into the caves and have them move fast and keep an eye up. We have wasted far too much time.”  
Graznikh grabbed Praktash's arm. ”I've an idea. But I'll need to go off alone for it, and keep the others outta the way.”  
”What're ya plannin'?” He looked down with a confused frown as Graznikh presented a tiny flask that smelled strongly of rock oil and something else that Praktash could not place.  
”Boom,” Graznikh murmured with an insane little leer.  
Praktash gave him a wide-eyed look as he understood. ”How many are there?”  
”Enough to turn this entire mountain to sand if I wanna.”  
”Not the dicks,” Praktash murmured with a jokingly frightened expression. Then he nodded. ”I'll talk to her.”  
Graznikh waited impatiently. He badly wanted to talk to her himself, but simply looking at her made him see red and even the thought of being near her made his skin crawl. _Whoever the fuck's doing this really wants to drive us apart. If I ever get my claws on that person I'll do to them what they're tryin' to make me do to her._  
Praktash returned after a while. ”You're on.”  
”One last request,” Graznikh murmured. ”Don't send the Uruks in just yet. Wait for the boom or nightfall, whichever comes first. Okay?”  
”Very well.” Graznikh tensed up as he heard Záhovar's voice right behind him, but she was already gone when he turned. Praktash gave his shoulder a pat and whispered ”good luck” in his ear before leaving to follow her.  
  
  
Graznikh took a deep breath to steady himself and clear his head. Then he began to climb the rock wall for the second time that evening. Once he reached the first ledge, a movement to his right alerted him to Mikbork's presence. He nodded a greeting and they continued up until they reached a shallow cave above, which they avoided. The sun was setting so fast that he could almost see the shadows lengthen. _Funny, that. Why do the Sun set faster here compared to further North? Is it a different Sun?_  
Mikbork had climbed ahead and tried to peek up over the top of the cliff, but the Sun was still shining and stung his eyes. He retreated down with a hiss after a few attempts. Graznikh gnashed his teeth as he peered up into the light and his eyes watered as he retreated.  
”Didn't see any troops,” he whispered, ”but that doesn't mean it's empty.” The riders who attacked them out on the salt flats had all worn brick-red clothes, and Graznikh had realised why the moment he saw the Crags. It was perfect camouflage against the red sandstone, and now he wished that he had thought of scavenging a few enemy uniforms. _Gotta make do without 'em,_ he thought. _They won't make much of a difference once it's dark anyway._ They climbed sideways to the left until they reached the base of one of the pillars. On the previous scouting trip Mikbork said that he had located a cave entrance that went deep into the cliff, but now it seemed to have vanished.  
”T'was right here,” Mikbork hissed. ”I _know_ it was!” He sniffed the rock. ”Even got my scent here, goin' right in _here_ but then it just... stops.” He gave Graznikh a helpless look. ”I'm not lyin'!”  
”Keep yer voice down,” Graznikh whispered. ”You're too clever to lie to me. But how the fuck does someone move an entire cave just like that?”  
”...Sorcery?” Mikbork suggested. Graznikh grunted. _Just what I need..._ Then he frowned. Long ago, upon Praktash's request, Záhovar had given her snaga a brief description of illusions and how they worked. Most illusions only targeted a single sense; sight, smell, touch or hearing. The more senses targeted and the more convincing, the harder the spell was to maintain. Sight was the simplest and most common illusion, especially against Men for sight was their primary sense and they often fully believed what their eyes showed them. _Can it be that simple..?  
_ He almost laughed out loud as he reached out to touch the seemingly solid rock surface and his hand passed right through it. Mikbork stared, mouth agape, as Graznikh seemed to crawl into the rock and disappear altogether. But before he could scream, a hand appeared and dragged him inside. They both crashed to the floor inside the cave with Graznikh muffling the terrified snuffler's shrill howl of fear.  
”Shut up, ya bloody snaga! Or the enemy'll hear us!”  
It took a while for Mikbork to calm down enough for Graznikh to let go of him. The illusion was as solid to the eye from inside as it was from the outside, so the tarks had posted no guards there. _The one that got away musta missed that we've got a sorcerer of our own._ A faint glint caught his eye. Stuck in the rock right next to where the illusion begun was a tiny blue crystal. Graznikh snorted quietly and as he smashed it with the pommel of a blade, the illusion winked out and light streamed into the tunnel.  
Once Mikbork was himself again, Graznikh gave him one of the little flasks.  
”Don't drop this,” he instructed, ”an' don't go near any fires. Remember the 'boom' back in the outpost? Yeah, this is what caused it. We're gonna plant these on three different spots 'round their main base, then set 'em off with burnin' arrows. There'll be a _lot_ of 'boom' if we manage.” He shared the snuffler's evil grin for a moment. ”C'mon, let's go. We've got 'til nightfall to make this work.”  
  
Once Graznikh and Mikbork was out of sight, Praktash remembered what he had forgotten to tell him. Záhovar was trying to hold some kind of conversation with Sulmurz, but the drartul was too busy apologising for his comment out on the dunes to get anything intelligent out of his mouth.  
”Can we talk?” Praktash asked and Záhovar nodded. As they left, she gave him a grateful nod for saving her from the increasingly awkward situation.  
”That's me alright, always ready to save a lady in distress,” Praktash grinned. ”Ow!”  
”Mind your manners,” Záhovar said and smiled a little as Praktash rubbed his shoulder where she had punched him lightly.  
”Bitch,” he muttered under his breath. ”Look, I wanted to tell ya somethin'... This place, it's givin' me the creeps. An' not just 'cause of the shape o' those pillars, it's like... I don't know, like sorcery? Old, old sorcery? Like Blog Shakâmb, but different somehow.”  
”Yes, I have felt it too. Know that it is not caused by any sorcerer alive within this structure.”  
”Structure..?” Praktash looked up at the windswept rock. ”You mean..?”  
”This was once a building of some kind,” Záhovar explained. ”I do not know exactly who or what built it, but it is beyond ancient. Old enough that all traces of its builders have been erased. Even the wind itself seem to want all memory of them gone.”  
Praktash frowned as an uncomfortable thought appeared in his head. But he had to ask. ”What was there... before us? Before Orcs'n tarks'n... all that? _Was_ there something before us?”  
Záhovar looked at him for a while without answering. Praktash suspected that he had touched a subject that was not intended to be common knowledge. But then she motioned for him to sit.  
”You know that we are all mere parts of the greater that is Lugburz,” she began. ”And that I and the other High Officers are its limbs, in a manner of speaking. He is the Eye, we are the Mouth, the Hand... And the Shadow. Just like we are parts of Him, so He was once but a small part of a far greater whole. A Darkness so vast that it mastered the Void itself. Before that, the world that we know and live in was locked in a static, neverchanging undeath from which there was no escape. Our enemies call it 'the Spring of Arda' but this is a falsehood. Imagine a world where nothing ever changes, where summer is eternal and the Sun never sets, where nothing you say or do makes any difference, a golden cage where the sweetest meat turns to ash in your mouth and the greatest pleasure becomes but another form of torture until it drives you mad.”  
Praktash shuddered. ”Sounds like Blog Shakâmb.”  
Záhovar nodded with a grim expression. ”Thus it once was. But then Change took shape to spread itself. Melkor, that shape was called, 'He Who Arises in Might'. 'He Who Loves The World'. And just as Change took this greatest of shapes, it also took many lesser. Orcs are but the smallest in stature, in truth one of the most resilient. There were once many other, greater shapes, and our Master is one of them.”  
”What happened to the others?”  
”Just like Change took forms of its own, so did Undeath. The forces arrayed against us would usher in a new age of static nothingness. But in doing so, it would kill us all, for without Change there can be no life. Does a tree that rots and falls not give space for new trees? This very sand that we sit on was once the bottom of a vast sea. But Change and time pushed the sea back, revealing new lands. Other lands sunk into the sea in turn. Mountains have risen and been ground to dust many times over. And that dust has been carried by the wind to shape new islands in faraway seas. Wars have chaped nations as well as individual lives, moved entire peoples over distances as vast as the wind carries the dust of ancient mountains. Nothing is static. Everything changes. Without that... there is no life. 'Immortality' is simply a fancy word for Undeath. And the Elves are its greatest advocates.”  
Záhovar smiled a little. ”Did you understand anything of what I have said?”  
”I think so... But where does that place you?”  
The smile disappeared from her face. ”Me?”  
”Yeah... Graznikh told me you're an Elf, or... Were.”  
Záhovar sat in silence for a long while before she answered. ”Whatever Graznikh has said... He does not know the full truth. I know that you are close, but do not take everything he says at face value.”  
”...Right.”  
”Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”  
”'Course not! I don't go spreadin' rumours about.”  
”Good. Continue like that. I have enough rumours being spread about me already.”  
Praktash nodded. ”Thanks, by the way.”  
Záhovar gave him a quizzical look. ”For what?”  
”For the chat. For explainin' things.” Praktash gave the red cliff a scrutinising look. ”By the way... What if this odd feelin' we have _is_ one of those... other shapes? What if Graznikh's stunt wakes it up?”  
”If so... Then may the Eye preserve us. Change can be violent, as you well know, and an embodiment of it even more so. And it is not always pleasant for the individuals caught up in it.”  
  
Deep inside the mountain, all was darkness. The Men dwelling there relied on torches to find their way, and moving a few and extinguishing others proved a very efficient way of spreading confusion and killing them one by one. The place was held by both tarks and Southrons; both spoke their native tongues when alone but resorted to Common when working together, and Graznikh picked up some valuable intel by eavesdropping on them. Of course, some soon grew suspicious when familiar paths changed abruptly and Graznikh and Mikbork had to be increasingly careful not to run into guard patrols. Even so, it felt like an eternity had passed before the alarm was sounded behind them.  
”They musta found the bodies,” Graznikh muttered and Mikbork nodded. ”Skai!” They were just about to move on when torchlight appeared in the corridor in front of them. There were no side passages and now they were surrounded, or so Graznikh thought until Mikbork yanked his sleeve and pointed up. There were several holes in the low ceiling. After tossing the snuffler up into one, Graznikh leapt up into another and held himself up inside the narrow shaft with hands and feet against the walls, digging his claws in to not slip. The next moment the patrol passed underneath them, oblivious to their presence.  
Once darkness fell on the corridor once more, Graznikh jumped down and beckoned for Mikbork to follow. ”Keep an eye up.”  
Remembering what had happened to the Uruk scouts, they kept a close eye on the shafts in the ceiling as they moved on. A few of them looked like they led to other corridors further up, but they were too small to climb through. But then they found one that was not.  
”Think it's guarded?” Mikbork whispered.  
”Wouldn't bet on the opposite,” Graznikh muttered. ”Think I see a light up there. I'll go first, give 'em a nice surprise.” Climbing the shaft was easy, but as Graznikh reached the top, he found his way barred by an iron grate. There was a simple hook locking it, but it could only be reached from above. He cursed and tried to motion for Mikbork to climb back down when foot steps approached and stopped right next to the grate. Graznikh pinched his eyes shut and let out a string of curses inside. _Trapped. That's it. Bye Záhovar, bye Praktash._  
Then the grate opened.  
”Do you see anything?” a heavily accented Southron voice asked. Graznikh could not believe his luck.  
”No, it is dark. The torch below must have gone out. I do not-!” The Man could say no more, not with an Orc knife through his throat. The Southron staggered back with a high-pitched scream that was cut off as Graznikh stabbed him first in the armpit near the heart, then inside the collarbone and twisted both blades. Mikbork jumped up just as three more came running and was soon clinging on top of a man's shoulders, stabbing wildly wherever he could reach. One of Graznikh's blades hit another attacker in the groin and he rolled out of the way of an incoming sword. He spun back onto his feet and jammed the second blade into the last attacker's kidneys from behind, then he yanked it sideways and opened his entire side just above the hip bone. The man fell with a loud wail before the shock silenced him.  
Graznikh shook his head to clear it. Then he grinned at Mikbork. The snuffler grinned back, then he squeaked and threw his knife at Graznikh. He barely managed to duck, then he was thrown to the ground by a heavy body. After a vicious fight he managed to gain the upper hand, only to realise that the tark was already dead; he had been twitching because Mikbork's knife had gone in through his left temple with the tip sticking out the other side. Graznikh could see the steel through the pupils of the Man's eyes.  
”I think ya won,” Mikbork said with a completely straight face before he collapsed in hysterical giggles on the bloody ground.  
”Yeah yeah, gimme all ya got,” Graznikh muttered as he went to retrieve his blades. ”I'm a big boy, I can take it.” He turned with a growl as Mikbork's snickering gained new strength, but found that he was not the target any more. The snuffler was poking the knife in the man's head, making his body convulse, all the while laughing like a little cub that had just learned how to yank the wings off flies.  
  
Graznikh left him to it for a while to secure the area before he returned. ”Okay, enough fraternising with the enemy. We still have a stronghold to blow up.” Mikbork nodded merrily and pulled his knife free before catching up with him. He had to put both his feet on the tark's head and pull with both his hands to do so.  
The place they had cleared was apparently off the beaten track; no one else seemed to have heard the battle. As they ran along the empty hallway, horns rang out in the distance, soon followed by muffled cries and Uruk battle roars.  
”Sounds like night's fallen,” Graznikh whispered to Mikbork. ”They were goin' to attack by then. Skai, we're late!” They moved faster, dodging guardposts and climbing up and down shafts towards the sounds of battle. Soon they found themselves crouching near the ceiling at the back of a large cavern filled with people and tents of various sizes. The air was hazy and thick with smoke from the many fires. _'Main base', in-bloody-deed. How many are there, two hundred? We'd've been well'n thoroughly fucked both back an' front without me an' my little flasks._ Then he frowned. The fires were far away, near the center of the cavern. There was no way to get close to them without being spotted, and throwing the little flasks that far would be a true gamble.  
”Well, that's it,” he said. ”We can't reach those fires.”  
”Sure we can.” Mikbork was holding the flask Graznikh had given him. The clear liquid inside swirled with little rainbows ashe held it up towards the light. Graznikh gave him a sceptical look.  
”I know you're good, but throwing isn't the same as archery. You sure about this?”  
”'M not gonna throw 'em. 'M gonna shoot 'em.” Before Graznikh had figured out what he meant and could stop him, Mikbork had pulled an arrow from his quiver and stabbed it through the wax cork that sealed the flask. Graznikh felt lightheaded when he thought of how close the snuffler was to killing them both. But nothing happened; the flask remained sealed, stuck on the tip of the little arrow. Mikbork grinned.  
”You're bloody fuckin' insane,” Graznikh breathed before returning the grin. ”Think ya can do it with the others too?”  
Soon Graznikh held four explosive arrows in his hands while Mikbork readied his bow. The last one he had given to Praktash before he left, as promised.  
”So... That one over there, those two near the center; I want a real big 'boom' there, send 'em scattering; the last one I want ya to aim at the gate on the far side. No wait; go for the gate first. I don't think the others've reached it yet, might give 'em a bit of a respite in case they're hard-pressed.”  
Mikbork nodded and took a deep breath. The enemy had gathered thickest near the gate, and that was also where the faint battle cries came from. Graznikh prepared to hand him the arrows when a battle cry echoed from behind. ”Fuck! You take the arrows, I'll hold 'em off!”  
  


The main tunnel that led to the tark base was a gauntlet; not only were the walls and ceiling full of hidden side tunnels and holes where arrows hailed upon anyone who passed, but illusions covered pike-filled pits in the floor. Once the Uruk and Southron archers and spear-bearers managed to clear the enemy archers out, they found their way blocked by a sturdy wooden gate. Without a battering ram they had to resort to axes, but it was slow work.  
”Looks bad,” Margzat reported. ”This place's a bloody fort'n they've had time to dig in; I'm thinkin' it'll only get worse once we're through that gate.”  
”We still have a card or two up our sleeve,” Záhovar commented.  
”Haven't heard anything from yer Lug-snaga since he left. Ya sure..?” Margzat trailed off as Záhovar's head snapped up. The next moment there was a loud 'bang' echoing up the tunnel followed by frantic screaming, and through the cracks between the suddenly creaking and bulging boards in the gate a bright light could be seen, as if a violent fire was raging behind it. It was soon followed by other, fainter explosions.  
Záhovar smiled. ”Bring that gate down!” she shouted. ”This is your moment to prove yourselves!” The Uruk doubled their efforts. Margzat strode up to the gate and shoved a smaller Uruk out of the way, claiming his axe for himself and tore into the gate while ordering others to throw themselves at it. Soon the cracks widened and the gate broke amid splinters and billowing smoke.  
The sight that met them was a chaotic inferno. The smouldering remains of a second, much heavier gate framed the cavern beyond. The ground was strewn with bodies and parts of bodies, scorched or torn apart by the recent explosions. A few still burned, some were completely untouched. Some of those who were still alive ran back and forth, and every now and then one fell to the ground, struck dead by some unseen force. Sulmurz grinned as he picked up a little arrow.  
”I was wondering where that little bastard had gone off to. Way to go, snuffler!”  
What remained of the defenders had balled up near the far wall, no doubt trying to make some kind of organised escape through the caves beyond. The Uruks swarmed them at Margzat's command and begun to chip away at their defenses. Záhovar kept eyeing the cavern with a worried frown.  
”Whazzup?” Praktash asked once he reached her.  
”Where is Graznikh?”  
”...Ya can't sense him?”  
She shook her head. ”He is still shutting me out.”  
Praktash scowled as he eyed the cavern walls. The ceiling was shielded from view by the thick, black smoke blanketing it; even the air near the cavern floor was hazy.  
”I'm sure he's okay. Ya know him, he's the luckiest bastard alive.”  
Záhovar did not look relieved.  
  
Graznikh desperately fanned his berserking rage and he tried to fend off the attackers. For every one he felled, two more seemed to take their fallen comrade's place and the only thing keeping him from being overwhelmed was the fact that the entrance to the tunnel beyond was too narrow to allow more than two Men to pass through it at once. He brought up every single insult and grief, real or imagined, that they had ever given him and growled as he felt Záhovar's presence through the bond as he tugged it. _Don't stop me,_ he begged, hoping that she would understand. _Lemme go, âmbal, I need this. I'll be fine. Just lemme go.  
_ The red haze enveloped him as she retreated and he embraced it, welcomed it. The world seemed to calm and slow down, narrowing down to scent, sound and sweet bloodlust. No past existed, no future. A wind swept through his head, clearing it from the cobwebs of hate and fear; he felt free and light as a feather without a care in the world. Every strike, block and stab seemed to come naturally, as if intended and planned from the very beginning of time; every cut, shove and bruise he received meaningless. He was _free._  
Záhovar looked up as she heard Graznikh's berserking roar.  
”He's up there!” Praktash shouted. ”I can see him! Ah fuck, I can see _them!_ There're too many of 'em, shoot them!” he shouted at Sulmurz.  
”Can't bloody see through all that smoke!” Sulmurz protested. ”No use if I shoot him too!”  
”But...” Praktash began, but gasped as Graznikh took a hard punch to his guts. ”Fuck, I can't watch this! Tarkshniki, don't take my buddy!”  
Záhovar stood in silence, but she watched the battle on the ledge as intently as everyone else who was not engaged in the battle near the back of the cavern. She clenched her fists as Graznikh's opponent slowly but surely forced him backwards with his shield. In his berserking rage, Graznikh was oblivious to what was about to happen, and eventually Záhovar felt forced to snap him out of it. It did not help; the moment his eyes cleared, he lost his footing and the tark shoved him hard with a victorious cry.  
  
As Graznikh was pushed off the edge, he desperately tried to get a hold of the rock wall to slow his fall. It did not help much and he bellowed in agony as two of his claws got stuck and were torn clean out of his fingers. With that, he was in free fall.  
”NAR!!” Praktash ran up to catch him, but as Margzat spotted what was about to happen he bellowed and charged him. He managed to push Praktash out of the way just before Graznikh landed on top of him. As it was, he landed on the krîtar instead.  
Mikbork jumped down moments later; he was far lighter and his claws were better adapted to climbing than Graznikh's, so he moved along the vertical with ease. Now he reached the ground just as Záhovar and Praktash both reached the unmoving commanders.  
”Buddy? 'Zat?”  
After a moment, Graznikh inhaled sharply and groaned. ”That's... gonna leave a bloody mark.”  
”Ya don't say,” Margzat grumbled back and snorted blood. He had smashed his face into the ground and his nose and upper lip were mangled and bleeding profusely. Praktash let out a relieved little whimper but the smile died on his lips as Graznikh knocked his hand away. The kritauk looked absolutely furious as he rolled to his feet and locked eyes with Záhovar.  
”The _fuck_ d'ya think you were doing back there?!” he growled as he advanced on her. ”I fuckin' _told_ ya to stay outta it!”  
”Direct your anger at those who tried to kill you,” Záhovar replied coolly but Graznikh roared and went berserk again. Praktash quickly caught him from behind, spun him around and shoved him hard towards the remaining enemies.  
”URUKI!!” Margzat bellowed. ”Trênotar!!” Those who heard the command quickly got out of Graznikh's way and the command spread fast.  
Praktash gasped as he stopped beside Záhovar. ”You alright?”  
She nodded, her face calm, but her eyes told him a different story and that alone made Praktash even more worried. ”We'll get to the bottom of this,” he promised, ”Once we're done here, we-” He looked up as bellows and howls of a different kind were heard from behind the enemy force. Ghakû had found a way through the side tunnels and had led Garmadh and his force in behind them. The remaining enemies had nowhere to run now and were trapped.  
”Take prisoners,” Záhovar commanded.  
Margzat grinned as he relayed the order. ”Ya got this one chance, tarks! Throw down yer weapons an' we'll spare ya! Keep bein' idiots'n you'll die for sure.” Several of the Southrons threw down their weapons right away. Cries of outrage were heard among the Numenorean soldiers and several of the Southrons were cut down where they stood. Soon a tiny civil war had erupted in the enemy ranks and the Uruks went in to sort it all out.  
  
Once the prisoners were securely bound, Praktash found Graznikh. His berserking rage had faded on its own and now he lay flat on his back in the middle of the battle field. At first Praktash feared that he was dead, but when he placed a hand on his chest a pale hand moved on its own and landed on top of it. Graznikh opened his eyes and looked at him with such despair and anguish that it made Praktash sick. ”Buddy...”  
”Don't,” Graznikh whispered. ”Just don't. Don't ask, don't care. I just need to be alone for a while, alright?”  
”Don't do anythin' stupid,” Praktash told him as he got up. Graznikh gave him a brief grin that never reached his eyes.  
”I won't. I just need a wank.”  
Praktash gave him an unsure smile but let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakrop – stop, stand still  
> Tarkshniki – tark devils, tark bastards  
> Trênotar – madman, berserker


	15. What Devilry Is This

”I wonder if we'll get to play?” Ghrazagh wondered aloud. He was wiping the blood off Margzat's sword and shield while throwing the prisoners they had taken a hungry glance.  
”Oh, I'm thinkin' we will,” Margzat said. Praktash had managed to sit him down for some healer's attention and was dabbing healing salve on his mangled face. The krîtar's teeth were intact but he had smashed his upper lip and broken his nose, a rib and an arm when he had played cushion for the kritauk, an act that had caused no end of mirth among the Uruks. A lot of punches and lashes had been doled out before Margzat had restored proper respect and fear. Záhovar had later solidified it by publicly offering him her gratitude for his loyalty and good service and mentioned that if he kept this up, she would elevate him once they were back in Lugburz.  
Now he glanced at the High Officer, who was pacing in front of the prisoners. Most of the Uruk force had been sent off to clear out the caves; this interrogation was entertainment for the High Officer and select associates only. Kraash and Ghakû had found a stash of booze in a side cavern and the Uruks had discovered them in turn before they could down it all. Now the entire band was merrily drunk and cheering Sulmurz on.  
The drartul was trying to get the suspected leader to talk, but was growing increasingly frustrated as the man simply refused to speak despite broken fingers, crushed toes, pulled-out nails, seared soles and similar little tricks.  
”Leave him for a while and let him think things over,” Záhovar told him. ”Have the guards twist his fingers and toes twice each toll. Perhaps a night in this state will change his mind.”  
Margzat stood, ignoring Praktash's protests and went over to her.  
”Lug-durbatar,” he said while tapping his fist against his cuirass. ”Mind if I give it a try? With one o' the others.”  
Sulmurz gave the krîtar a sullen look as Záhovar made a 'be-my-guest' gesture. Margzat paced the line of prisoners slowly while giving each of them a scrutinising look. Praktash exchanged a few whispers with Záhovar before joining him, groping the prisoners generously until they were flinching harder away from him than from the krîtar.  
”This ain't yer whorehouse, Bukrazikh,” Margzat said with a grin.  
”Just givin' ya a hand.”  
”I'm thinkin' it's not _me_ ye're givin' it to.”  
”Well, you shouldn't be doin' this in your state anyway.”  
”Callin' me a weaklin', are ya? Most o' my bones're still whole!”  
”An' the rest'll be whole an' hard soon too,” Praktash purred as he ran his hands down a prisoner's hips. ”I'm good at makin' things hard.”  
”Fraternisin' with the enemy, are ya?” Margzat grabbed his shoulder in a manner that was both intimidating and seductive.  
”Let him do it,” Záhovar said. Praktash gave her a grateful smile and continued his invasive exploration.  
”Oho,” he said quietly as he rubbed a man's crotch. A sly smile spread slowly on his face as he met the man's fearful and disgusted face, nostrils flaring as he sniffed.  
”Found us an Orc-fancier, did ya?” Margzat asked jokingly.  
”Not really,” Praktash replied thoughtfully. He did another round among the now struggling prisoners, sniffing and groping. ”Okay, these two like guys. Probably fuckbuddies, judgin' by how they keep glarin' at me whenever I touch the other. This one does too, or at least his cock likes my hand. He doesn't wanna like it though, no idea why. And this one...” He stopped by one of the younger soldiers, drew his dagger and quickly removed both armour and clothing from the tark's body. Once he was done, he took a step back to admire his handiwork before grabbing the 'man's' chin and forcing her to meet his poison-green eyes. ”...Is a woman.”  
  
Záhovar quickly assessed the resulting expressions. A few of the men looked like their eyes were about to fall out. Others looked like they had expected this all along but were not happy about it. One caught her attention; he was staring at the ground with a stony look, but the tightly clenched jaws spoke of his distress.  
”Y'know, comin' here wasn't the smartest thing you coulda done,” Praktash murmured to the previously disguised woman's terrified face as he untied her and pushed her up against Margzat's chest. ”Hold this for me, will ya krîtar?”  
Margzat complied by grabbing each of her arms and pulling her up onto her toes.  
”Us Orcs've much keener sense of smell than your kind,” Praktash purred. ”Ya might've fooled the guys in your band with your little roleplay, but ya can't fool us. Now look where it's gotten ya.” His smile had turned almost angelic as he spoke, his voice a husky purr; the torchlight made the spikes in his lips and ears glint and his eyes shone with an almost hypnotic light. Despite his current mood, Graznikh had to hide a smile where he stood half-hidden behind one of the nearby tents; this brought back memories of a different time. He had watched Praktash use this exact technique to mesmerise potential victims in the ale-houses of Lugburz back when they still lived together in the storeroom down by East Gate. Praktash had not lost his touch; both the tark woman and Margzat seemed caught up in it and were unable to take their eyes off him. The krîtar purred deeply as Praktash fondled him between the woman's legs.  
”Now,” Praktash continued, ”D'ya really want _this,_ ” he pushed Margzat's giant cock up between her legs, ”inside your cunt with no preparation at all? Nar, I didn't think so,” he purred as treacherous tears began to trickle down her hard-set face. He gave Záhovar a pleading look. ”Master, will ya let us play a little?”  
  
Záhovar walked up to them at a leisurely pace. The moment she was close enough, the woman spat at her and shouted something in Adûnaic. Sulmurz took a step forward to intervene but Praktash was faster. He procured a piece of cloth from one of his beltpockets, wiped the spittle off the High Officer's chin, returned the cloth to its place and spun to slap the prisoner hard, all in one smooth move. Záhovar laughed, a wraith-like, icy laugh. The moment she nodded and made a 'be-my-guest' gesture, Praktash dove down between the woman's legs and pulled them up onto his shoulders. Then he dug in, tongue flicking and fluttering until her screams became punctuated by harsh gasps and whimpers.  
”The fuck's he doin'?!” Lîrnash exclaimed.  
”Just plow 'er already!” Kraash shouted.  
”So, err... How d'ya do this again?” Urkhish murmured.  
”Just put yer cock in it,” Golnauk replied with a chuckle.  
”Then what's _that_ all about?”  
Golnauk could not come up with a good answer.  
”Let this be a lesson to you,” Záhovar told the prisoners, raising her voice to be heard over the woman's increasingly desperate moans, protests and short cries as Praktash and Margzat both began to grope her. ”Think not that you are in any way safe from sharing her fate. This will be repeated every night, with each and every one of you. In time, you will find yourselves begging to share your commander's fate and deem it the lesser evil. The price for security and... intact orifices... is a cheap one; words. Who sent you to raid the caravans? Where can this person be found? Simple questions with simple answers. Watch, listen, and think hard on your choices. Until then; enjoy the show.”  
Praktash's services soon had the intended effect; the woman was soaking wet from both saliva and lube and the scent of her filled the air as he spread her legs wide for all to see. Orcs and Uruks alike looked like they were about to tear her to pieces at any moment.  
”The fuck was 'at all about?” Margzat purred.  
”Just warmin' her up,” Praktash replied with a grin. As he rocked back on his heels and licked the juices off his fingers, he had an idea. ”Hey, Sulmurz? Get over here, little guy.”  
Sulmurz shot him a venomous look without moving. ”The fuck d'ya want?”  
He nodded at the woman. ”Wanna have a go? You did say you wanted plashnak.”  
Sulmurz's eyes widened briefly, then his face twisted in fury. ”Ya sick fuckin' bastard,” he growled. ”If you think I'm gonna get anywhere near you again-”  
”Look, ya daft twat,” Praktash interrupted with a growl. ”You have this one chance at learnin' what it feels like to fuck a woman who actually wants your cock instead of just your tokens. Take it or leave it but if ya don't, you're not gettin' any more chances. Make up your mind or I'll let Ghakû field this one instead.”  
”What the fuck?” Ghrazagh protested. ”You're givin' the snaga the first fuck? What's wrong with ya?”  
”Master's command,” Praktash replied. ”'Keep the prisoners alive.' No killin' or maimin', markin's fine. If you louts have her with no prep, she's gonna split down the middle; no fingerplay of mine can stop that. I want a soft fuck to have a go or two first so she's well stretched before the rest of ya join in. That make enough sense to ya?” Ghrazagh growled, but didn't reply. Praktash turned back to Sulmurz. ”So what'll it be? Yes or no?”  
Sulmurz snorted at being called a 'soft fuck'. ”Skai... Yes. Fuck yes, get outta the way an' lemme at her.”  
Praktash chuckled as he rose and gave the space between her legs to Sulmurz, signalling for Margzat to put her down. ”Go easy on her, will ya?”  
”I don't need you to tell me how to fuck.” As he kneeled between the prisoner's legs, Praktash placed a hand on his shoulder. It was an innocent enough gesture, but to Sulmurz it felt like he had already made a grab for his cock and he recoiled a bit.  
”You owe me one,” the Uruk whispered in his ear, barely louder than a breath. Sulmurz snarled at him to fuck off and cursed quietly. His dick had nearly wilted. As he yanked his breeches down and began to tug it, the woman sprung to life and began to kick and scream. Ghakû and Golnauk quickly joined him to help hold her down.  
  
”Eager one, are ya?” Sulmurz purred as he grabbed her knees and pulled her hips up into his lap. He leaned down and grabbed her chin with his claws, forcing her to meet his gaze. ”First time with Orc cock? Either way, after a few rides on this you'll be beggin' for more.”  
She began to whimper and plead in the same tongue as before. Her pleading was cut off by a whimper as Sulmurz hilted inside.  
”Shut up with the tark-talk; ye're ruining the mood!” He did not need to look to know that Záhovar was watching his every move. Instead of playing his usual role of cock-blocker, the Uruk had given him a golden opportunity to show off his skills to his prime target. He set a slow, steady pace, forcing his victim to feel all of it. She kept her head turned away and her eyes and lips pinched shut, but a harder thrust here and there forced a whimper or brief moan out of her. He listened carefully for the little changes in her breathing and the tension in her face that told him that he was on the right path and whether he should go faster or slower. He ran his hands over her body and slowly but surely, the woman's self-control began to slip.  
”Well, bugger me sideways,” Praktash said with an astonished grin. ”The bagshatîgatok _knows_ how to use his cock!” He was leaning against a palm tree next to Záhovar, who was watching the scene with an expression of mild interest. Graznikh was nowhere to be seen.  
”I was under the impression that you preferred men,” Záhovar commented.  
”Are we talkin' folks with cocks or Men here? If the first, then yeah, I do.”  
”What about the display with that one?” she asked and nodded towards the woman.  
”Practice,” Praktash replied with a little smile. ”Gotta take it where I can. What?” He chuckled when he spotted Záhovar's blank stare. He snaked an arm around her waist from behind and pulled her close.  
”Don't tell me you're jealous, master,” he whispered. ”Y'know my tongue's yours whenever you want it. I'd much rather practise on you anyway. I just didn't wanna bother ya in case I messed up somethin' important, what with the battles an' all.”  
”I'm rarely _that_ busy,” Záhovar whispered back. ”But I am afraid such activities will have to wait.”  
”Right,” Praktash said and removed the hand he had been rubbing between her legs. ”Just say the word.”  
”Why so eager now? I thought Graznikh goaded you into it the last time?”  
”Yeah, but... I've had plenty of time to think it over, an' I've decided that I like the taste.” His eyes and grin told Záhovar that there was something else to it, but she did not press the issue. She nodded as she stepped out of his embrace.  
”I will see if there is anything of note left in the leader's tent.” With that she left, but not before throwing an appreciative glance in Sulmurz's direction.  
  
”This is boring,” Kraash complained.  
”Well, I'm not fucking _you_ , am I?” Sulmurz growled. He patted the tark's head with a leer. ”We ain't got nothing to prove to the likes of him, now do we? For once I agree with the Tongue Terror over there; let's take things nice an' slow, warm ya up a little afore the real sport begins.” Praktash laughed out loud at the new nickname, but Sulmurz shut him and the rest of the world out. He bore into her hard now, purring and grunting as his peak charged at him. The woman had stopped trying to wriggle away from him and was moaning loudly. He thrust fast and deep, savouring the sensation of her trembling body and it did not take long for him to spend himself.  
”Finally!” Kraash exclaimed. ”Now it's my turn!” He made a grab for the woman but Ghakû smacked him hard over the head and kicked him out of the way.  
”Learn to respect yer elders, whelp!” he chuckled as he took Sulmurz's place. ”Hope ya like it hard, little lady; this old todger still has some steel left in it.” A shriek split the air moments later.  
Sulmurz growled as Praktash sauntered over to where he was relaxing and sat down crosslegged beside him.  
”Y'know, I'm almost impressed, little guy,” Praktash said cheerfully and dumped a bottle in his lap. ”Let me know if ya ever wanna dance on the other side of the fence; I _might_ even let ya top me if you rut like that.”  
”You're never gettin' any of this,” Sulmurz sneered as he took a swig from the bottle. It contained an odd kind of booze; too sweet for Sulmurz's taste, but it burned nicely on his tongue.  
”Savin' yourself for a certain dark-haired lady, perhaps? You'll never beat Graznikh to it, y'know. My buddy's an expert at withdrawal an' frustration, an' the harder he plays to get, the more lord Záhovar wants to jerk him outta it.”  
Sulmurz grinned wistfully. ”Wouldn't mind a bit o' jerking o' my own, if she's the one to do it.”  
”You keep sayin' that,” Praktash whispered back huskily. His pupils had slowly grown from almond-shaped to round, and he was breathing heavily. A horrible insight struck Sulmurz at seeing the Uruk's eager expression and he stared at the bottle.  
”You spiked this!”  
”What? Nar.”  
”Yeah, you did! Ya cock-suckin' arsehole!”  
”That doesn't even make sense,” Praktash snickered. ”Fine, I'll check ya for poison. But don't blame me if I hafta suck it outta ya!”  
Sulmurz fought for his life as the Uruk pounced him. He was _not_ going to let himself get buggered in front of the whole group, or anywhere else for that matter! Kraash exploded with laughter as he spotted his former Captain's precarious situation and Sulmurz threw a string of curses at both him and Praktash. The Uruk still wore his armour but his upper arms and thighs were unprotected; Sulmurz buried his claws in both and shredded the skin. But the more he fought back, the more excited Praktash seemed to get. He tried to flip his struggling victim over to reach the back of his breeches, and Sulmurz let out a snarl that bordered on a whimper as the Uruk succeeded.  
  
  
Graznikh had no interest in 'group sports', so he had left the field once the celebrations began. It had felt good to berserk, but he did not feel good in general. Instead of angry, he was now so horny that he could barely control himself, and the sounds emanating from where the others were did not improve the situation. He had tried to wank with Whindaër's old comb pressed to his cheek in a desperate attempt to recall the scent of her hair without the corruption that was Záhovar, but to no avail. Every image he managed to conjure up was soon replaced by the vision he had had in Ruzh Moraut; her face twisted in fear, grief and pain. _I can't do this âmbal,_ he thought as he wandered aimlessly among the half-burned tents. _I shoulda died that first time. I don't even know why I keep going anymore; it's all empty. I'm so empty without ya..._  
He was so lost in thought that he did not see where he was going, and so it was that he walked around a corner and straight into Záhovar. She came from the other direction, seemingly just as deep in thought. As they crashed into each other, he instinctively flung his arms out and grabbed her by the waist; she did the same with his shoulders.  
They stood perfectly still for a while, staring at each other in shock and bewilderment. Feeling her arousal through the bond, Graznikh could not help but sniff her out and drink in the scent of her. As he did so, his mind flooded with memories of every time they had fucked; how good it felt, how she sounded, how she looked...  
Záhovar tried to pull away, but Graznikh's arms refused to obey him and let her go. Her eyes changed slightly and she looked almost... hopeful? Then he realised what he was doing and tried to pull away as well, but now it was Záhovar who refused to let go. _So that's how you wanna play?_  
He could not resist. He slowly began to back away, pulling her along around the corner. There he could not hold back any longer but pushed her up hard against the smooth rock wall and began to bite and fondle her with ever increasing eagerness. Not caring to remove any more clothes or armour than absolutely necessary, he unbuckled her greaves with frantic hands and began to tug at the lacing on her breeches. She tore off his belt and untied his loincloth with equal ferocity until his cock was freed. Once he had pulled her greaves and breeches off, she hooked her legs around his waist while he pinned her to the stone, prodding blindly. She was already wet and helped him along.  
As Graznikh thrust hard and filled her up, Záhovar cried out as much in joy over having him back as in pleasure from what he was doing with her. She had been so desperately cold and lonely ever since Morigost and she did not know how to break the icy shell that he had locked himself into, nor what to do about his inexplicable anger. Sulmurz was rather charming and his persistency and fear intrigued her, but he was not _Graznikh_. And now he did not hold back but fucked her with all of him and filled her with warmth and life through both bond and body in the way that only Graznikh could. Her body rocked with the force of his thrusts and she could feel her peak coming closer, closer, so _close..._  
Graznikh spent himself with a muffled roar, fangs pressed against her neck. He was still hard, but the climax broke the wonderful spell he had been under and the bitterness welled up from inside to overwhelm his desire. _She just wants my cock. The rest of me she keeps treating like shit._ He pulled out and away, retying his loincloth with shaking hands. He desperately tried to ignore the wave of intense rejection and confusion that swept over him as he walked away.  
Záhovar stared after him while trying to comprehend what had just happened. He had wanted her so badly, it had been so good and then... nothing? He had simply _used_ her? She gasped as the strange painful feeling she had been experiencing so often lately returned with full force, pressing the tears out of her eyes and the whimpers out of her mouth beyond all control. Slowly she sank to the ground. _Why does he hate me so? And why do I care so much? When did I become so weak?_

  
Suddenly a pair of large, heavy hands descended upon Praktash and lifted him into the air by the backstraps of his armour.  
”It's not fair,” he exclaimed with a disappointed pout as Margzat held him fast, allowing Sulmurz to escape. Praktash tried to feint his way out of Margzat's grip and follow him, but deflated a little when it did not work.  
”Drop it, Bukrazikh,” the krîtar rumbled. ”Ya gave yer word.”  
”Aw, but 'Zaaaat!”  
”Nar, not 'Zaaat'. Drop it, we're not done with this shit yet. I'm not gonna have ya shove another wedge through the band if I can stop it.”  
”I'm not gonna do that,” Praktash protested with a drunk grin. ”I just wanna wedge my cock in his-”  
”Drop it,” Margzat repeated with a grin. ”I'll wedge ya proper once the lads're done playin'.”  
”You're not gonna play too?”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Nar, I'd split 'er apart. 'Sides, I got somethin' better awaitin' me once we're alone, hmm?”  
Praktash moaned loudly as Margzat chewed on his ear. ”But... But I wanna be on top right now,” he said breathlessly. ”I really need that shit _right now_!”  
”Where's yer buddy then?”  
”Off wankin'.”  
”Not keen on group sports, eh?”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Not keen on _anythin'_ unless it's lord Záhovar, really.”  
”Poor Bukrazikh, all lonely an' cold...”  
”Not cold,” Praktash gasped. ”Oh, fuck fuck _fuuuck!_ ” He groaned as Margzat's hand grabbed his package and squeezed hard. ”Don't do this to me 'Zat, sha, _please!_ ”  
Margzat chuckled hoarsely in his ear. ”Fine, I'll stop. It'll be a while afore things calm down here anyway.” He let Praktash go and gave him a gentle push that almost toppled the knee-weak Uruk over. Praktash let out a vicious growl as he turned to face him.  
”You're fuckin' playin' with fire, 'Zat!” he shouted.  
”I know,” Margzat replied with a 'come-hither' grin. Then he winked and walked away. Praktash snorted like a frustrated war horse and contemplated throwing himself on the ground and kick and howl until he got what he wanted. But then he had a better idea. He casually leaned against a wall and kept an eye on Margzat while inconspicuously inching sideways towards the corner. Then he turned around it and ran.  
  
The more Graznikh analysed recent events, the more he realised what an utter jerk he had been. Once his rage died down and his brain began to function properly he understood that she had wanted him for real, not just his cock but _him_ , all of him. There had been a moment when he had had the chance to set things right, to get her back for real, and he had ruined it and made things even worse. He almost berserked again at the thought, but there was nothing to berserk against other than himself. He was still painfully hard and a part of him wanted to run back, excuse himself and slip right back in, but he knew that it was impossible. He kept pacing back and forth and tried to come up with something, _anything_ that could excuse him and repair the damage. But everything sounded hollow, like dabbing healing salve on a gaping flesh wound.  
Just when Graznikh thought he would explode from sheer despair and frustration, he noticed Praktash prowling towards him. He recognised the feral expression the Uruk wore; there would be no reasoning with him when he was in this particular mood. Graznikh welcomed the interruption; he badly needed to escape from himself for a while and there was no way he would be able to do so on his own. He returned Praktash's evil leer and snapped his fangs in a challenge, then he bolted with the lust-crazed Uruk hot on his heels. He did not get far before Praktash pounced him with a battle-roar. Graznikh fought back just enough for the Uruk's predatory excitement to peak and then succumbed to the assault as his buddy proceeded to fuck him senseless.  
  
Sulmurz looked over his shoulder when he heard a familiar roar, but it did not look like the Uruk had followed him. He dared to breathe a little calmer as he crept around a corner. There he froze as he spotted Záhovar sitting nearby. She sat with her back to him and Sulmurz began to back away, but hesitated when he noticed her shaking shoulders. Something was wrong; he could smell it, but he did not know how or why. Taking a closer look, he saw that her greaves lay on the ground beside her and that her hair and clothes were dishevelled and tangled. He reluctantly took a few steps closer.  
”What do you want?” she whispered.  
”Err...” he began before he had to stop to swallow. ”Just... just checkin'. You, uh... d'ya need anythin'? 'Cause I can leave, if ya-”  
”Do not.”  
Sulmurz nodded. He fidgeted a little on the spot before regaining his courage. ”Can I, uh... come closer?”  
”You may.”  
He came closer, step by step until he was next to her. Then he hesitantly knelt beside her, unsure of what to do next. Then his chin hit the ground, his eyes fell out of their sockets and his brain went out with a bang as she flung her arms around his neck and began to cry against his shoulder. _If this is her trying to scare me 'til I pee my breeches, she almost succeeded right there._ He desperately tried to come up with something to say that would end the uncomfortable situation as quick as possible, but his thoughts would not come together.  
”Th-there there,” he tried but scowled at how stupid it sounded. He decided to simply put his arms around her instead and did so while waiting for her to stop whatever she was doing. He could smell Graznikh on her, as well as her despair. _I thought she liked him? Skai chief, if this is what your cock does to Top Ones then you're beginning to creep me out for real._  
Eventually, Záhovar's tears dried up. She let go and began to put her greaves on without a word. The silence was fine to Sulmurz; he had no idea what to say or do anyway. Once she was done, she stood.  
”You will not speak of this,” she said without looking at him. ”Not to me, not to anyone.”  
”Wouldn't dream of it.”  
  
Afterwards, Graznikh basked in the afterglow with closed eyes, purring softly. Praktash kept nuzzling his ear; his hot breath tickled and soothed and nearly lulled Graznikh to sleep.  
”I'm so happy for ya, buddy,” Praktash purred quietly.  
Graznikh frowned a little. ”Happy?”  
”Don't tease,” the Uruk said with a grin. ”I can smell her all over ya. I'm so glad ya made up!” His grin faded the moment he felt Graznikh tense, and his eyes filled with fear. ”What'd ya do?” He pinched his chin hard and forced him to meet his eyes. ” _What_ did you _do?_ ”  
Reluctantly, Graznikh told him. The light seemed to die in Praktash's eyes. ”You...” He let Graznikh go and rolled over on his back. ”You...” He slowly took a deep breath, then he let out a frustrated roar. ”YOU FUCKIN' IDIOT SNAGA!!!”  
He shot up and Graznikh barely managed to dodge the incoming fist that slammed into the ground right beside his head. ”You had her!! You fuckin' _had her_ well and good an' _still_ you manage to fuck things up! What the fuck is _wrong_ with ya?!”  
”I don't know! Everything was fine and wonderful, then all of a sudden it wasn't!” He gave the furious Uruk a pleading look. ”I told ya, I can't control it! It's not my own anger, it just _comes!_ ”  
Praktash retreated a little and Graznikh whimpered. ”I really messed up this time.” He let his head fall back down. _I'll never get her back._ ”Whenever we're apart, I want nothing more than to be close to her. But whenever I'm close, all I can see're all the things Whin used to be that aren't there anymore, and _everything_ inside just screams that it's all Záhovar's fault. It's fuckin' tearing me apart.” _I've ruined everything._  
He looked at Praktash after a while when the Uruk did not reply. He was leaning his head against his knees with his arms wrapped around them, deep in thought.  
”Wait,” he said when Graznikh opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong. ”I'm thinkin'.” He frowned and remained silent. Graznikh lay back down, watching the cavern ceiling far above. With the black smoke and the glow from the fires, it almost looked like the cloudy sky of Lugburz. Praktash kept muttering to himself, but Graznikh could not hear what he was saying. After a long while, he looked up.  
”Compulsion.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”But-”  
He held up a finger. ”This shit sounds _exactly_ like compulsion. I know you're a berserker, I know ya haven't been close to any Officers, but... There's no other explanation that I can think of. Oh buddy...” he breathed as Graznikh broke down. He quickly threw a glance at their surroundings before hugging his buddy's shaking shoulders as he whimpered and let out half-choked dry sobs against his chest.  
”I know this isn't what ya wanted to hear,” Praktash whispered in his ear. ”An' I know it's the last thing ya want. But this isn't _your fault._ The more I think it over, the more right it feels; this's got somethin' to do with sorcery. The bad kind. Now that we're done here, we've got no more distractions. We can focus entirely on this problem, screw the rest for a while. Ya with me?”  
Graznikh did not trust his voice, so he only nodded. _If this doesn't do the trick, I'm out._  
  
When they returned to where the prisoners were kept, things had calmed down considerably. Záhovar sat on a bench, sorting through a pile of parchments and trinkets with Sulmurz at her side. As he spotted them, he threw Graznikh an odd glance and Praktash one of pure hatred before turning back towards the table.  
Graznikh frowned in confusion before nodding towards the sleeping Kraash. ”Don't tell me ya let _him_ have a go.”  
”Why not? I'm thinkin' he needed it,” Margzat chuckled.  
”And was she still alive after?”  
”Why wouldn't she be?” Praktash asked.  
”'Cause that bastard likes to use his claws an' teeth a bit more'n is healthy,” Sulmurz muttered with a disdainful snort. ”And he likes 'em screamin' in pain. They usually don't last long after he's had his way with 'em.”  
Margzat grinned. ”Dun' worry, she's alive an' kickin'. We held him down on the ground an' lifted her on top, then he could fuck all he wanted without bein' able to do any more damage than a bit o' tearin' from thrustin' too hard. But that'd happen sooner or later anyway.”  
”Clever,” Praktash commented.  
”Ye're not gonna have a go?” Margzat asked Graznikh, who shook his head.  
”Nar, already had one.” The temperature in the cavern seemed to drop several degrees and he noticed Sulmurz glaring at him. ”What?”  
Sulmurz looked away while shaking his head sullenly. ”Nothing.”  
”Krîtar,” Záhovar said absently.  
”Lug-durbatar,” Margzat replied.  
”Have your Uruks returned yet?”  
”Some o' 'em have.”  
”And have they found anything that looks like this?” She showed him a charcoal drawing of something that looked like an doorway. Margzat shouted for the recently returned scouts to come over and had them look at the drawing. All shook their heads.  
”We didn't go 'at far down,” one of them grunted. ”Garmadh led the group 'at went down below.”  
Záhovar stood. ”Show me.” Graznikh took a step to follow, but Záhovar held a hand up without looking at him. ”Lug-snaga; stay here.”  
”Should I stay too?” Sulmurz asked.  
”You may come.”  
As the High Officer marched off and left Graznikh and Praktash behind, Sulmurz threw them a sly, victorious glance that hit Graznikh right where it hurt. _That fucking little bastard..! Trying to take my place, are ya? We'll bloody see about that!_  
”Hey, buddy?” Praktash nudged his shoulder, and Graznikh looked at him once he had managed to stop imagining his blades sunk deep into Sulmurz's back.  
”What?”  
The Uruk nodded towards the nearest fire. ”Let's go get drunk an' spew shit over that snaga lickspittle.”  
With a defeated sigh, Graznikh followed his lead.

  
Záhovar was not sure how long it took them to find what was left of the scouting party, but if she were to guess, at least a toll or two. Margzat squatted next to one of the dead soldiers with a grim scowl.  
”This can't be all of 'em. Where'd the rest go?”  
”Further down,” Lîrnash muttered. ”'Least 'at's where the blood goes.”  
”Then that is where we go,” Záhovar said. The trail of black blood was fresh and easily followed. The large tunnel soon opened into another, larger cavern far below the surface. Sand seeped in from cracks in the ceiling, but the piles where it gathered on the floor were too small to have been there for long. The floor was unusually well swept in general; it looked like someone had gone over it with a giant broom. The Uruks cared little for such peculiarities; they were too busy staring at the immense gate that had been carved into the rock wall in the other end of the cavern.  
”Guess we know where that drawing came from,” Sulmurz commented.  
”Indeed,” Záhovar replied. The strange feeling that Praktash had mentioned earlier radiated from inside the gate and grew stronger with every step in that direction. ”Be on your guard.”  
They slowly made their way across the vast cavern. At one point, a strange sound was heard from further in. Margzat said that it reminded him of the sound a scale armour made when shaken.  
”So what, we're gonna get attacked by a giant, flying scale hauberk now?” Sulmurz sneered. He immediately fell silent as the sound returned, stronger this time.  
As they came closer to the giant gate, Záhovar spotted someone sitting nearby, half-hidden by one of the giant statues that flanked it.  
It was Garmadh. He bled profusely from his ears as if they had exploded from within and had chewed his tongue so badly that he could barely speak.  
”Dhon',” he hissed and shook his head weakly as Margzat knelt beside him. ”'S ove'. Ge' ou' o' 'ere b'fore i' come' back.”  
”Afore _what_ comes back?” Golnauk asked.  
Garmadh shook his head again. ”Can' 'ear ya. Ea's gone dheadh.” He spat some black blood. ”Scale beafth killedh 'e othe's. Go! Ge' ou' 'fore i' gess you thoo!”  
Margzat looked at Záhovar, who nodded. ”Right. T'was good knowin' ya ol' mate.”  
Garmadh grinned weakly, then his eyes widened and slowly went dull as Margzat's dagger pierced his heart. The krîtar wiped it on his sleeve before he returned it to its scabbard. ”Guess we're gettin' outta... Here...”  
  
The monster had dropped down from somewhere above them without a sound. Now it stood on stocky hind legs, staring at the intruders with hostile, black eyes. It was huge, its hunched back higher than Margzat was tall, with an elongated head, a coiled, flat tail, huge claws on its front paws and almost Man-like round ears. Its body was covered with huge scales, but unlike those of a lizard these scales were loose and formed a nearly impenetrable armour with razor-sharp edges. As the Uruks began to form up around Záhovar a tremor went through those scales, causing the metallic chittering that they had heard before.  
”We have to get out of here,” Záhovar hissed. ”Now!”  
A few of the scouts broke out in an attempt to distract the behemoth. It curled into a near-perfect ball, scales on edge, and rolled over one of them. When it rolled back off, there was nothing left but shredded pulp.  
”That thing bloody minced him!” Ghrazagh exclaimed. The next moment another Uruk fell as the beast uncoiled and tore his leg off with its incredibly long, whip-like tongue. Záhovar spun her glaive on the ground to create sparks and threw a spell that only bounced off its hard scales as it turned its back. She barely managed to dodge as the tail lashed out towards her. The Uruks broke and ran the moment Margzat bellowed for them to retreat. As they fled in blind panic towards the tunnel, a strange, high-pitched, whirring noise steadily increased in strength.  
”Cover your ears!!” Záhovar screamed. ”Run!” Several more Uruks fell, clutching their ears and screaming in pain. Sulmurz fell as well, ignored by the Uruks, but a small, pale hand caught his own and pulled him along with unusual strength.  
They continued up the tunnel. The monster pursued them but luckily it was a slow runner. When they reached the upper cavern, Záhovar called for an organised retreat.  
”Bring the horses and the prisoners, and whatever else you can carry. Hurry! Let us leave this place to the scale beast. With luck, it will guard whatever lies below and make sure that no one else tries to claim it.”  
”We did some scoutin' o' our own while ya were away,” Ghakû informed Sulmurz. ”The water hole's fine'n clear, an' we found a tunnel what leads at least a night's march into the desert in the direction we came. Could save us a headache, keep us outta the sun.”  
”And where are my Lug-snaga?” Záhovar asked after Sulmurz had relayed the information.  
”Dead drunk,” Ghakû snickered. ”Both o' 'em.”  
  
The drunk Lug-snaga were both dunked head-first into the waterhole until they were sober enough to walk and then tied to Akûl's harness by their collars and made to keep the Uruks' pace with a whip at their backs. Záhovar also stripped Graznikh of all rank, but he had too much of a headache to care. Once Praktash was sober enough to answer his own name when someone asked for it, Záhovar ordered a breather and had him make 'day-after' tea for himself and Graznikh.  
The tunnel, no doubt dug by the scale beast, gained them a day. The sun was setting as they finally broke through the sand at its end and Záhovar had them march through the night to put more distance between them and the Crags. Praktash noticed that she was limping slightly but dared not mention it.  
The mood during the journey back to the outpost was hushed and low. Even though they had succeeded in the task and won the battle, this did not feel like a victory. Praktash could not even enjoy Garmadh's death, not after hearing how it happened. Even Margzat seemed down.  
”Known him fer a while,” he grunted when Praktash asked him about it. ”Knew he was gonna go eventually, I mean we all do, but... Just didn't think I'd be the one to do it.”  
”At least it wasn't you,” Praktash murmured and Margzat grinned briefly.  
”An' then what? You'd cry over my corpse?”  
Praktash shrugged with feigned flippancy. ”Maybe. If ya really want me to.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Ya tell yerself that, Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash made a face at him that made the krîtar chuckle louder. After throwing a glance at the other Uruks to make sure that none of them would see, Margzat stuck his tongue out at Praktash from the corner of his mouth. It was a silly little gesture, but the fact that a krîtar, _that_ krîtar, was fine with being silly and the smile he gave him afterwards made Praktash feel all happy and fuzzy inside. Then he happened to lock eyes with Graznikh, and all that happiness drained away. Suddenly he felt like shit for flirting and feeling good when his buddy when through the very opposite. But still...  
”Ya can't hold everyone up by the hair,” Margzat murmured low enough for Praktash alone to hear. ”If ya try, you'll end up just as squashed as I was under yer buddy back in the Crags.”  
”Well, I can't just drop it and not bloody care either. He's my _buddy!”_  
”Does it matter? Ya won't be much use if ya run yerself into the dirt. Ya proved to me that life's 'bout more'n just work'n duty. Take yer own lesson for a while an' live for yerself too. Eye knows ya deserve it.”  
  
Graznikh volunteered for the watch almost every day. Akûl kept watch over him in turn and every now and then, Mikbork would keep him company though Graznikh could not figure out why. He was the only one; Sulmurz was busy claiming his spot at Záhovar's side and he had told Praktash to stick with Margzat when he would not stop pestering him about joining the group around the fire. Kraash and Ghakû kept to themselves when not hanging out with Sulmurz and the Uruks pretended that he had never existed now that he was back at proper snaga level. Graznikh had nothing to do and no one to spend time with and he could not sleep. And he most definitely did not want to lie and listen for the moment when Sulmurz managed to convince Záhovar to push him aside altogether. Sitting on guard made him feel at least remotely useful. And Mikbork was fine with just sitting in silence, perched on a rock or sand dune, so he was perfect company.  
”Ever had a mate, snuffler?” Graznikh asked him one morning. Mikbork nodded briefly. ”What's she like?”  
”She was an idiot,” the snuffler muttered. ”But she was the toughest, sweetest idiot I ever met,” he added after a while. ”Didn't matter how rough the goin' was, if we was starvin' or whatnot, she always found stuff to laugh at. Made others laugh too, or yell at 'er to shut up.”  
Graznikh grinned a little. ”Sounds like a right special little lady.”  
”Aye, she was.” The snuffler picked at a rock with his claws. ”Never took her for the mum-like type either. But I was wrong.”  
”Ya had cubs?”  
”Mm.”  
”What happened to them?”  
Mikbork shrugged. ”Uruks took 'em. Took her too, to one o' the fortresses. Lost their trail 'bout halfway. Only trail I ever lost. Only one that mattered.”  
”That what brought ya to Lugburz?”  
Mikbork nodded. ”Dunno what happened to 'em.” Then he added, with a barely audible whisper; ”Not sure I wanna know.”

Everyone was relieved when the entrance to the valley where the outpost lay came into view.  
”Finally!” Kraash exclaimed. ”Maybe now we can get a proper breather.”  
”And empty our boots,” Ghakû muttered. ”Got sand in 'em.”  
”Sand in yer boots?” Sulmurz sneered. ”I got sand in my bloody ears!”  
The Orcs kept chatting all the way up to the outpost. Once they entered the circular plaza outside the wall however, they fell silent. The original rock-and-gravel wall had become the foundation for a sturdy log palisade with an iron-bound gate. No sound was heard from within and the wall looked deserted. Margzat ordered a halt and gave the place a suspicious look.  
”We in the right place?” he asked Záhovar as she dismounted. ”This wasn't here when we left.”  
”It would seem the Black Hand expected success more than I did,” she commented before walking up to the gate. ”Lug-durbatar Záhovar demands that you open this gate!”  
There was a rattling of chains and a clang of iron bars being withdrawn before the gate swung open. An Uruk that Margzat did not recognise beat his armoured chest in a salute before roaring an order to prepare quarters. A closer look at his armour told him that the other's rank was drartul, or Captain if he had been placed in charge of the new outpost.  
Now that the identity of the approaching force was known, the outpost was once again buzzing with activity. Crude plank buildings had been raised here and there, the alleys inbetween covered by plank roofs and leather sheets to shield from the sun. The mountains beyond were quarried for building material and tunnelled out for more lasting living quarters and better defense, and numerous snaga and regular Orc warriors went about their nightly routines. Uruks were fewer, but seemed to have taken the role of taskmastering the taskmasters.  
”How did you get here so fast?” Záhovar asked the Captain.  
”Shortcut 'cross the mountains,” he replied. ”There's a pass to the northeast. Not much used; too many spiders.”  
”Very well. Krîtar, give the troops some food and rest for tonight and tomorrow. I have new orders for you tomorrow evening.”  
As the krîtar gave the order to stand down, Praktash caught Graznikh from behind.  
”I'm not lettin' ya sit up another moment,” the healer growled. ”You'll lie down an' get some shuteye, or I'll drug ya to it!” He managed to get his and Graznikh's bedrolls out despite Graznikh's protests and dumped his buddy on one of them.  
”Shut up an' lie down! I'll hear no more of it!”  
Graznikh grudgingly obeyed and let Praktash strip him of armour and weapons. As he laid down face first, Praktash straddled his hips to keep him from escaping and smeared his back with lube. Then he proceeded to massage him with steady motions. Soon Graznikh was purring and moaning softly as the Uruk's strong, skilled hands kneaded away the tension in his muscles. ”Fuck, I've missed this...”  
”Sleep, buddy,” Praktash purred. ”Rest an' relax, you've played the tough guy for far too long. Everythin'll get better from here, you'll see.” Graznikh closed his eyes and slowly drifted away to the comforting sound of his buddy's purrs. Once he was fast asleep, Praktash laid down beside him and pulled a blanket over them both. _Things'll get better from here. They bloody have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "scale beast" is a real, living animal that exists today, with a tiny twist. Three Eye tokens and one ration with dubious content to those who finds out what it is :D


	16. Deep Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to chop a very long chapter into two, so double update to make up for the long wait! I had a bit of writer's block and the mandatory spring cold, but now I'm ready to shoot out new chapters. I've also made a Tumblr where I'll cram in some of the drawings and writings that don't make it to AO3 or Deviantart. It's also a place for semi-RP, so if anyone wants to ask a question directly to the characters, then that's the place to do it :)

The following evening, Záhovar gathered what was left of the ûzhak and the two hûrks in front of the pile of crates and casks. Out of one hundred and ten Uruks, only thirtytwo remained.  
”You have walked through a gauntlet,” Záhovar said, ”and you survived. Out of one hundred and ten, you were the strongest, the smartest, the most resilient. Enjoy this reward, for it is well-earned!” She motioned towards the crates and casks. As one of each was broken open, they revealed a treasure after so long on water, rations and the occasional swig of ghâshpau; cured and dried meat of assorted origins, blood pudding, hearts, kidneys, liver, even spiced sausages. The casks contained booze, of course, both Man-made and various home brews from Lugburz. Praktash grinned as he recognised the brand on a few of them.  
”Hey, these are mine!”  
”I thought you might miss your own brew, seeing how much you tend to consume of it,” Záhovar told him with a teasing smile.  
”Thanks, boss! You're so considerate.” Praktash proceeded to shock a few of the nearby Uruks by wrapping an arm around the High Officer's shoulders and lick her cheek.  
She arched an eyebrow. ”Do not tell me that you become drunk just by looking at your own booze.”  
”'Course I don't,” Praktash snickered. ”But I had a headstart at dinner; saved a few bottles from the Crags.”  
”Is there any left? I never had the opportunity to sample.”  
”Aww, ya coulda said so earlier! Hey, Graz! Get over here buddy!”  
Graznikh threw Záhovar a hostile glance as he came closer. ”What?”  
”Got any left in your bottle?” Praktash asked and pointed at the one he was holding. After a moment's hesitation, Graznikh handed it to him without a word and Praktash passed it on to Záhovar. ”I think it's too sweet, but it's stronger than it tastes.”  
Graznikh stared as Záhovar's lips brushed the tip of the flask where his own lips had been mere moments ago. It felt like this was the closest they had been to kissing since they left Lugburz, and he could not help but imagine his lips in the flask's place. Then he had an image of how he would bite into her face and crush her jaw between his fangs and he violently shook his head to clear it. He excused himself with a mutter that he was off to get more booze.  
Záhovar gave the bottle a forlorn look. ”You were right,” she said quietly. ”This is too sweet.”  
Praktash looked after Graznikh with a concerned frown. ”I think he's under compulsion,” he whispered.  
She looked up. ”That is impossible.”  
”I know, it should be. But I'm not sure if it is, really.” He nodded towards the perimeter. ”Tell ya what? I'll go get us some o' my stuff to wash down that bloody syrup an' we can have a serious chat someplace quiet.”  
”Can it wait? I wish to speak with the krîtar first, before he becomes too drunk to form coherent words.”  
”Sure,” Praktash grinned. ”I'll set things up in the meantime.”  
  
Margzat was chatting with the Captain, whose name turned out to be Fashoth, while keeping an eye out for quarrels around the crates. The new drartul and the sergeants were busy making sure that each squad got their share of booze and food, giving the higher-ranking commanders time to sort out personal issues after claiming their share. Due to the size difference and Margzat's greater assertiveness this had ended quickly with the Captain in his rightful place, and once the tension had abated they had found a bit of common ground in the discovery that they had been in the same bootcamp. They both saluted when Záhovar approached.  
”Krîtar, follow me,” she said as she passed. Margzat nodded to the Captain and obeyed without question. Despite the general excitement, the Uruks moved out of Záhovar's way and pushed each other away as well as she strode through the crowd.  
”How is the arm?”  
”Better'n it was. Praktash did a good job on it; I'll manage.”  
”You have my gratitude for what you did in the Crags,” she said once they were well away from the others.  
”Only did my duty,” Margzat rumbled.  
”Did you now?” Záhovar asked with a telling smirk. ”You seem very fond of my healer.”  
Margzat shuffled a little. ”He's a decent fellow. Bit feisty, but solid when it matters. An' he's the best fleshknitter I ever saw; better'n some o' the Black Tarks back in Blog Shakâmb.” He grinned a little. ”Didn't think an Uruk could make it outta the army, but there ya have it.”  
”He is valuable,” Záhovar agreed. ”I will not tell you to stay away from him, for I do not doubt that he returns whatever affections you may have. But do tread carefully; if you doublecross my Lug-snaga, you will make an enemy of me as well.”  
”Wouldn't dream o' it.”  
Záhovar gave him a thoughtful nod. ”Soon we will be back in Lugburz. What are your plans after this is all over?”  
Margzat gave her a surprised look and shrugged. ”No plans. I'll go on followin' whatever orders I get from up Top.”  
”Do you want to?”  
”I don't think like that. No use to; I'm an Uruk'n a krîtar. I know my place.”  
”And if I offered you another? There is room in my retinue for an experienced commander. Especially one who knows the Black Uruks' pack structure as intimately and clearly as you do.”  
Margzat barely dared to open his mouth, but Záhovar lifted a hand to silence him before he could answer.  
”I do not expect an answer tonight. Take your time, weigh your options. Accepting would mean a profound change, and a permanent one. It is not necessarily the easier route. And even should you accept, I cannot guarantee that my request to claim you would be granted. Give me your answer when we reach Thaurband.”  
Margzat nodded. ”As ya say, Lug-durbatar.”  
”One last thing,” the High Officer said before she turned to leave. ”There will be no repercussions should you decide to decline my offer. I would not have you serve me out of fear.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Graznikh told me as much when he first asked me to join ya.”  
Záhovar's only reply to that was an eerie little smile. Margzat watched her as she left through the crowd. Mûrnaluzh stepped out of her path and went down on one knee beside her. She spoke a few words to him before continuing, nodding to Ghrazagh and Lîrnash who lifted their tankards to her in a salute.   
”That one's gonna be our new Ladyship when this is all over,” Golnauk commented nearby, and Margzat nodded.   
”I'm thinkin' she won't need to weave any black tendrils through our heads to get to that point.”  
  
A while later, Praktash and Záhovar were sitting on the edge of the ravine that formed the western border of the stronghold. A low wall of gravel and boulders kept newcomers from tumbling off the cliff.  
”Are you sure of this?” Záhovar asked.  
Praktash shook his head. ”Nar. It's just, what he said got me thinkin', but it didn't fall into place before... Well, back there in the Crags.” He nudged her a little when she did not answer. ”I know he was an idiot back there.”  
”I do not wish to talk about it.”  
”You don't have to. Just hear me out, alright?” He continued once she nodded. ”I know Graz, I know he woulda never done somethin' like that to ya if he was himself.”  
”Then perhaps you do not know him as well as you think.”  
”I _do!_ You're only seein' the bad 'cause it triggers when he's around ya, you don't know what he's like when you're not.”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”Are you saying that this is somehow _my_ fault?”  
”Nar! Skai, nar! It's just aimed at ya, not caused by ya!” Praktash took a deep breath to calm himself. ”Don't get angry with me, I'm just tellin' it like I see it. When he's not with ya, almost all he can ever talk about is you. He's as pissed at himself over what happened as you are at him. To tell ya the truth, I dont know how he managed it, 'cause he told me he couldn't get it up around ya, there was too much hate in the way.” He cocked his head. ”Is there any way you can tell if someone's under compulsion for sure? Some kind of spell or somethin'?”  
Záhovar gave him a mirthless smile. ”There is one way, but I doubt that you would like it.”  
”...Tell me.”  
”I would have to try to place him under compulsion myself. Although...” She frowned. ”If it does not work, there is no way of knowing whether it is because of the berserking ability or the influence of an already existing compulsion spell. As a berserker, the latter should be impossible.”  
”Where'd ya learn that? From a book, or..?”  
”...No. There are no written words concerning compulsion; it is a closely guarded secret and there are High Officers who never hear of its existence.”  
”But then who..? Oh. Right.” He fidgeted uneasily as Záhovar gave him a telling glance. ”Guess you learned from the best then.”  
Zahovar nodded. ”It is worth a try though. But not tonight; I will need to gather my strength first.”  
They sat in silence for a while. Then Praktash grinned and tapped the bottle against her thigh. ”Tell you what; why don'tcha join us for tonight?”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”'Join' you..?”  
”Yeah! Y'know, get drunk, hang out, socialise a bit. You've spent so much time hidin' in that tent of yours that I've almost forgotten what you look like.”  
”I daresay that would put a bit of a dampener on your fellow Uruks' celebrations,” she replied with a smirk. ”Besides, you know it does not affect me the way it does you.”  
”Wouldn't put a dampener on _my_ celebratin',” Praktash chuckled. ”Screw the others, if they wanna be borin' that's their problem.” His grin slowly changed into a predatory leer as he continued. ”Just stick around an' watch. Ya might like it.”  
”You sound as though you have something planned.”  
”You could say that... I'm gonna change 'Zat's mind on somethin'.”  
Záhovar's smirk slowly became a leer as well. ”Why do I have the feeling that the krîtar is going to regret this on the morrow?”  
”Oh, he won't!” Praktash chirped. ”Quite the opposite, I'd say. Though he'll probably be cryin' an' beggin' for me to stop at first.”  
” _I'm thinkin'_ you might be able to change my mind about Uruk 'celebrations' as well.”  
”Yes!!” Praktash exclaimed and threw his arms in the air. ”She's learnin'!”  
  
Graznikh sat with his back against an empty crate, feeing quite content after having filled his belly with everything there was to sample of both booze and fatty, protein-laden food.   
”Well, I sure as fuck have no complaints about her leadership style,” he said out loud to nobody in particular.  
Sulmurz snorted. ”Bloody queer way ya have o' showing that.”  
Graznikh gave him a look. ”The fuck's wrong with ya? You've been giving me odd looks ever since the Crags. That scale beast hit your head or something?”  
”You know what I'm talking about! You raped her!”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Who?”  
”Ya _know_ who!!” Sulmurz snarled.  
”I didn't _rape_ her,” Graznikh muttered. ”She wanted it.”  
”That wasn't the look o' someone who wanted it!”  
”What, were ya spying on us or what? Then maybe Praktash's right; you _don't_ know what a woman who wants your cock looks like.”  
”Nar, but I had to mop up after ya! You dunno what she was like!”  
Graznikh leaned forward with a dangerous grin. ”And what was she like? Do tell.”  
Sulmurz opened his mouth, but then he remembered that she had commanded him not to speak about it ever again and that he was surrounded by curious ears and wagging tongues. Outing his lady's weakness like this would probably get first him and then her killed.  
”Don't stop now,” Graznikh growled. ”Do start babblin' about shit you don't understand. Do, an' we'll have a nice little chat that I'll make sure ya don't walk away from.”  
”Is that so?”  
Graznikh froze. Slowly he turned around and met Záhovar's eyes, as cold as the collar around his neck. Strangely enough, she gave Sulmurz an equally icy look before walking over to where Margzat and the Captain sat. Graznikh and Sulmurz simultaneously let out the breaths they had been holding.  
”Trust me; ya don't know half of it,” Graznikh muttered. ”Maybe I'll tell ya 'bout it some night.”  
  
The entire group of Uruks in which Margzat sat fell silent as Záhovar stopped beside him.  
”May I join you?” she asked. At first Margzat did not know how to respond; no High Officer had ever asked him for permission to do anything before, least of all join him.  
”Sure,” he eventually managed to blurt out and stared in bewilderment as she gracefully crossed her legs and sat down beside him. The awkward silence remained until Záhovar broke it.  
”Do not mind me,” she told the Uruks. ”I did not come here to have you stand on parade for me, nor to interrupt your feast.” Slowly the talking picked up again, but it was still hushed and constrained. Záhovar sighed.  
”If ya don't mind my askin',” Margzat said. ”Where's Praktash? Ya talked earlier, right?”  
”He went looking for the privy, I believe.”  
”Hope he didn't fall in,” Fashoth murmured and Margzat chuckled.  
”He was not that drunk when I left him,” Záhovar said with a smile. ”Although I cannot vouch for what he has downed after that.” _Which reminds me to keep an eye on Sulmurz and make sure he does not stray as long as Praktash is unaccounted for.  
_ ”So is this someone I should know?” Fashoth asked.  
”Depends,” Margzat replied with a grin. ”Ya might come to regret it if ya do. Or wonder how the fuck ya went on livin' afore ya did.”  
”Whazzat supposed to mean?”  
”My drugdealer can be slightly... overwhelming,” Záhovar explained.  
”Understatement o' the age,” Margzat chuckled. ”Nar, he's good. He's-”  
”'ZAAAT!!!” Margzat twitched hard as Praktash pounced him from behind and began to ferociously lick his cheek. Margzat let out a thundering bellow and spun to face the sudden threat, and stopped only when he held Praktash's head in a tight grip under his arm, ready to snap his neck. Praktash looked completely unphased by his imminent death and gave him a happy grin.  
”Ye're a bloody idiot, Bukrazikh! I coulda killed ya there!” Margzat snarled. ”Ow!” he added when Praktash licked his broken nose. Margzat let him go with a sigh. ”Ye're drunk.”  
”Nar, I'm Praktash,” Praktash snickered. ”An' I'm not nearly as drunk as I could be.”  
”Why hold back? Have at it.”   
”Nar, I had my party at the Crags. I plan on holdin' back a little for a while; don't wanna end up at the wrong end of a whip again.” He gave Záhovar a wink.   
  
Záhovar threw Captain Fashoth a curious look. He was staring at Praktash and his expression told her that had he been a Southron, he would have been frantically making signs to ward off evil by now. Praktash chuckled as he noticed it and rolled his eyes.   
”Why is everybody starin' at my face the first thing they do?”  
”I could say that it is because they are rendered speechless by your conspicuous and alluring visage...” Záhovar said with a teasing smile.  
”I've no idea what you just said, but it sounds great! Thanks master!”  
”...But that would be an obvious lie.”  
”Aww!”  
”Mind yer manners, Bukrazikh,” Margzat rumbled and scratched him behind the ear. ”Here; eat yer meat.” He pushed a large smoked sausage into Praktash's hands, which in retrospect might have been a mistake on his part. Praktash's face cracked up into an insane leer at the sight, a leer that Margzat completely missed.  
”I'd rather eat your meat...”  
”Yeah right,” Margzat chuckled. ”Not gonna happen.” He turned back to Fashoth, happily oblivious of the look shared between Praktash and Záhovar.  
”Thanks for providin' for me, krîtar...” He leaned in to lick him again, but Margzat caught him before he could do so.  
”Keep actin' out, Bukrazikh,” Margzat said with a low growl. ”I dare ya.”  
”What'll you do if I do?”  
”I'm thinkin' I'll _tickle_ ya.”  
Praktash's grin did not change in the slightest, but a tension seemed to creep into his face at the threat. ”Fine,” he said with feigned flippancy. ”If you're gonna be like _that._ ” He stuck his tongue out and turned to Záhovar, but not before catching the brief glimpse of the krîtar's tongue as he responded in kind from the corner of his mouth.

  
Graznikh watched them with longing and envy. He wanted so badly to sit down with them, to chat and laugh with them both, to be the recipient of Praktash's cheeky jibes and dirty suggestions and to give them to Záhovar in turn. For as long as he had known her, she had always been a solemn, cold and and distant person most of the time. But now that he saw her with Praktash and the other Uruks, he realised that she had changed. Something of Praktash had rubbed off on her, or perhaps more of Whindaër had surfaced. She smiled more, laughed even, and whatever disagreements she had had with Praktash seemed to have disappeared; now they were having some kind of quiet discussion over the sausage Margzat had given him. Seeing them like that, knowing what he had lost, knowing that he had no part of it hurt far more than he thought it would.   
He tried to enjoy the festivities anyway, following the wildly exaggerated story that Ghakû was currently telling with one ear while throwing glances at Záhovar and his buddy. For a brief moment their eyes met; Graznikh took the opportunity to lift his bottle towards her in a silent cheer. Her eyes glittered with cold, calculating depravity as she returned it and Graznikh felt an unexpected chill run down his spine. _The fuck..?_  
”So if everything's fine, why don'tcha go over there?” Sulmurz sneered.  
”Why don't you?” Graznikh retorted.  
”I'm not as bloody keen on getting buggered as you are. What?!” he snarled as Graznikh snickered.  
”You're gonna have a 'hard' time as Lug-snaga with that attitude.”  
”What, is getting buggered a bloody prerequisite for the job?”  
”It is when Praktash's part o' the deal.”  
”Like fuck it is; ye're just trying to put me off the whole thing.”  
”Now why would I be tryin' that?” Graznikh murmured with a lopsided grin. He had Sulmurz by the neck before he could reply. ”Look,” he growled. ”What's between me and Záhovar is none o' your fucking business, got it? Keep your nose outta trouble an' no trouble'll come to you. As for the buggering; ya might wanna keep outta my business for that reason too. If you keep this up, I might be more inclined to let him have his way with ya the next time he jumps ya.”  
Sulmurz quickly jumped out of Graznikh's reach once he let him go. He opened his mouth to reply in kind, but a loud exclamation from the Uruks distracted him.

”What the fuck're ya doin'?!” Margzat exclaimed once he happened to throw a look at Praktash. The healer was busy showing off a party trick to Záhovar, who was watching him with august curiosity as he slowly pushed the sausage deeper and deeper down his throat. Several of the Uruks were watching as well, or rather staring with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Ghrazagh was breathing heavily, watching his every move with hungry eyes. Praktash returned his looks and slowly sucked the sausage in and out, purring and moaning softly until Ghrazagh was kneading his package with needy little growls. Praktash pulled the sausage out and licked it with teasing and inviting glances. Then he proceeded to viciously bite the tip off and chew it loudly. Ghrazagh jumped where he sat and let out a howl, and the entire crowd erupted with laughter.  
”You fuckin' bastard!” Ghrazagh snarled with a humiliated scowl.  
”See?” Praktash told Záhovar. ”It's not so hard, once you learn how not to choke.”  
”That is impressive,” she said with a smile.  
”Nar, this is nothin'. I can take far bigger things down my throat; this sausage is small in comparison.”  
”We've got bigger things in camp,” Urkhish said with a big leer.  
”What, bigger'n this?” Praktash said, waving the sausage. ”Where?”  
Several Uruks pointed at Margzat, who was trying to figure out what they were talking about. ”What?”  
Praktash's leer grew ever wider as he followed the fingers. Záhovar suspected that this was exactly what he had planned. ”Oh, that's right,” he mused. ”We _do_ have something big in camp.” He moved over to Margzat and knelt in front of him with wide, innocent eyes.  
”Hey, krîtar? I did promise ya a treat after the battle, remember?”  
Margzat gave him a lopsided grin that grew more and more unsure as he noticed Graznikh's wicked leer. Ghakû cracked up as well, as did several of the Uruks and now the grin disappeared altogether from the krîtar's face.  
”Whu... What kinda 'treat' is this, exactly?”  
”Oh, just a suck.”  
Margzat chuckled nervously. ”Oh, no. I'm not lettin' a biter anywhere near 'at.”   
Praktash turned to Záhovar.  
”Master? May I..?”  
Záhovar gave him a look of mild interest and made a graceful 'be-my-guest' gesture with her hand.   
”Thanks!” Praktash chirped. Then he shoved Margzat hard in the chest. As the krîtar's back hit the ground, he dove down and latched onto his hips with both arms and pulled his loincloth off with his fangs. Margzat roared and was about to hit him on pure instinct, but froze mid-strike as Praktash caught the tip of his flaccid cock between his teeth. His expression changed to one of utter shock and dread as he realised that the most vulnerable part of his body was now stuck in the mouth of a guy who was a compulsive biter whenever he became horny. And Praktash sure _looked_ horny as all fuck.  
He held the krîtar's gaze with hungry eyes as he used his lips to push the foreskin back. He moved his teeth until they were hooked behind the base of the head and began to slowly dance the tip of his tongue across the sensitive skin. Margzat flinched and made an involuntary little sound halfway between fear and pleasure.  
”I'm not... This isn't gonna work, Bukrazikh,” Margzat murmured. ”Don't do this.”  
”Oh, it will,” came the husky reply. ”You'll get that cock hard for me, or I _will_ bite.”  
”Ya wouldn't fuckin' dare-” Margzat growled, but his deep rumbling growl turned into an almost falsetto-like squeal as Praktash let out an open-mouthed bellow and made a move to bite. But he halted the bite just before it connected and instead planted the softest of kisses down the krîtar's cock. That took the fight out of Margzat and he fell back as if fainted. His lower lip was actually trembling as he moved his hands to Praktash face in a meek, futile attempt to push him away. Praktash held them at bay with ease and the krîtar whimpered.  
”You don't really have a choice in this, krîtar,” Praktash purred and licked his thigh. ”Best lie back an' take it, it'll make it easier. G'won now, get good an' hard for me an' I promise to make this quick. You won't know what hit ya.”  
  
As Margzat closed his eyes and tried to obey, he admitted to himself that he had never been so afraid. Orc jaws were fanged and powerful, with teeth made to pierce skin and chew raw flesh. He had never been sucked off, had never let anyone's mouth come as close to his genitals as Praktash now was. Even though his cock was too big to be particularly useful for anything other than violent rape he was still fond of it and not keen on losing it, especially not in this manner. This was something you could do with a Mannish slave or a little opa-snaga who was too weak to bite down hard enough to do damage. He had seen other Uruks try what Praktash intended to subject him to and had seen the result when their victim thrust a little too deep and activated the bite reflex.  
He felt as limp as a boned fish. A part of him wanted to resist that warm tongue, to stay limp until the healer gave up. But Praktash had threatened to bite him if he did _not_ get hard. And showing fear and surrender in public like this would strip him of all rank as efficiently as if the High Officer herself had degraded him; he was done for if he could not retain the respect of his subordinates. His Bukrazikh was right; he had no choice.  
But so far, Praktash had not bit him. He had not tried to use his teeth or take him into his mouth at all, other than that first moment. He simply ran his tongue and lips up and down his thighs and loins, along his lower belly and now and then licked or sucked some spot on his still limp cock. When he met Margzat's gaze, the krîtar gave him a look that told him that he was not going to forget this humiliation. Praktash gave him a sultry, submissive look back and flicked his tongue tentatively across the tip. Margzat felt rather than saw him smile against his skin as his cock bobbed in response.  
  
Záhovar was watching Praktash's ministrations with a barely suppressed smirk. Graznikh suspected that she was just as aroused by the krîtar's fear as she was from watching the 'action' in question. Sulmurz was watching her in turn with mingled fear, disgust and disbelief written all over his face. His being so disturbed over the fact that his 'dear lady' enjoyed such things gave Graznikh a measure of satisfaction.  
”Hope you're ready to get your arse in the air, drartul,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth. ”She _really_ likes this kinda shit.”  
Sulmurz actually let out a terrified little squeak at that, and his expression turned almost panicky as Záhovar tilted her head ever so slightly to glance at him with a seductive little smile. Graznikh had to bite his lip as he watched his rival shake his head slowly and scooch away. _Got in over your head, have ya drartul? Maybe ya won't be so keen on taking my place if pillowbiting's part of the deal._  
 _  
Well then,_ Praktash thought as he stroked the length of Margzat's tumescent member. _This is gonna be a real challenge._ The size did not intimidate him; willing or unwilling, he had taken larger things down his throat and knew that he could handle it. But he did not wish to scare the krîtar into becoming violent; despite his hard-set and confident expression he reeked of fear and Praktash could feel him tense up every time he caught sight of his fangs.   
He continued to play and tease with tongue and lips, easing him into the situation. _Don'tcha worry, krîtar. I'm not gonna bite ya._ He took the tip into his mouth and steadily sucked harder until Margzat let out a little groan. Then he let go and licked a few times before sucking him in again. He continued like that, taking him a little deeper each time until the krîtar's cock pressed against the back of his throat. There he held still and moved his tongue while purring low. Margzat let out a surprised growl at the unexpected sensation and looked down at him. Praktash winked at him. Then he took the plunge.  
Taking Margzat's giant down his throat proved difficult at the position they were currently in. After a few unsuccessful tries where it just would not bend at the right angle, he was forced to give up.  
”Told ya he couldn't do it,” Mûrnaluzh sneered.   
Praktash ignored him. ”Y'know, this'd be easier if you sat on somethin'.” He looked around and spotted a nearby crate that had been turned over but not smashed. ”Like that.”   
Margzat reluctantly got up but looked down as Praktash wrapped his arms around his thigh and rubbed his cheek against it with a happy purr. ”Ya gotta let me go if I'm to get there.”  
”What, set ya loose so you can run from me?” Praktash replied with a grin. ”Never.”   
”I'm not gonna run,” Margzat growled. Praktash gave him a jokingly sceptical look, but the krîtar's growl grew stronger and he let go. As Margzat sank down onto the crate and leaned back against the still full crates behind, Praktash crawled on all fours over to him, causing a chorus of jeers and lewd remarks from the onlookers.  
”Sorry lads,” he said with a wicked grin. ”This is only for show.” Even so, he wiggled his rear a little before kneeling between the krîtar's legs.   
”Ye're a whore, Bukrazikh,” Margzat grinned.  
”Nar, I'm a healer. An' blue balls can be a serious condition.”  
”One you'll happily cure for a price, huh?”  
”Just like I cured your chafe,” Praktash replied with a lopsided grin. The krîtar chuckled but tensed up again as Praktash's lips pressed against the tip of his cock.   
”Can ya stitch that back on after, too?”  
Praktash sighed. ”I'm not gonna bite ya,” he whispered. ”Here's one thing you need to get into your thick krîtar's skull; I don't bite the hump that fills me. An' your 'hump' fills me _just_ right.” With that, he licked his lips and began to suck Margzat's cock into his mouth. Margzat had opened his mouth to reply but froze and fell silent, breath hitched. His expression slowly changed from fear to concern to disbelief to amazement to FUCK YEAH as his entire length disappeared down the healer's throat. Once his lips were firmly pressed to the krîtar's pubic bone, Praktash looked up at him with as sweet a smile as he could manage around the huge thing in his mouth and winked. In the meantime, the crowd that had previously been jeering and loudly commenting on his chances of success had fallen silent as the grave.  
”I can't be-fucking-lieve this,” someone whispered nearby. That unleashed a roar of exclamations.  
”Why isn't he biting?”  
”Skai, why isn't he _pukin'_?! I'd be retchin' my guts out by now if that was me!”  
”I did _not_ just see that, somebody slap me!” The sound of a slap and a roar of ”I DIDN'T MEAN THAT!!” followed.  
”I'm outta here,” Sulmurz grumbled and began to rise.  
”You will stay,” Záhovar said. Sulmurz slumped back down with a fearful frown and fixed his gaze on the ground. After a while he proceeded to press his hands to his ears.  
Graznikh leered and realised that he enjoyed Sulmurz's distress far more than he should. He did not really want to put him off joining Záhovar's little band, only remind him of his place and of the foolishness in trying to take Graznikh's.  
  
”Oh fuck,” Margzat breathed as Praktash's mouth began to slide along his length. ”Oh fuck, oooh fuck, oh fuck fuck _fuuuck_...” Once more he tried to put his hand under his chin to have a chance to stop him in case he bit. Praktash took his hand and placed it on top of his head instead, silently instructing him to set the pace. Margzat gave him a disbelieving look, but Praktash pushed on the krîtar's hand with his own and soon Margzat gently pushed him down onto his cock. Praktash could not help but purr, repeatedly interrupted by the cock blocking his windpipe. Margzat's hand soon fell limp down onto his shoulder and he fell back against the crates with a raw groan.  
All coherent thought left his mind. That purr, aimed right _there_ felt better than he had ever imagined. Margzat knew that one could do interesting things with growls and purrs, but _this_ had never even crossed his mind. And now the redhaired healer's throat clenched and squeezed as if choking, or slowly trying to swallow his cock whole. The crate creaked as Margzat dug his claws into it. But suddenly the lovely mouth disappeared.  
”So,” Praktash said with a confident smile as he met the krîtar's disappointed and needy eyes. ”Want a quickie, or should I draw it out?”  
Margzat grinned a little. ”Quickie. Dun' think I could take much more o' this anyway.”  
”Oh, you have no _idea_ what I could do,” the redheaded healer purred. ”But quickie it is. This time.”  
Margzat had no idea what happened after. It was like a hurricane of pleasure hit his crotch with full force and it was all he could do to sit there and take every moment of it. Within moments he spent himself with a loud, desperate bellow that echoed among the cliffs, accompanied by loud cheers and roars from the crowd. Praktash milked every last drop out of him before pulling back with a smug grin.  
”See? Told ya I wouldn't bite.” He snapped his fangs in the air and relished the krîtar's sated grin before returning to his place beside Záhovar.  
”I would retract my previous words,” Záhovar said. ” _That_ was impressive.”  
”I think I set a new record,” Praktash chirped as he licked his lips. ”That's the biggest cock I've ever had in my mouth.”  
”What's the biggest number o' cocks you've had in yer mouth?” one of the garrison members asked. Praktash shrugged without answering. The other leaned forward with a leer. ”Wanna find out?”  
”Yeah, there're not enough Officers here for that to work. I only suck krîtars an' higher. Everyone else will have to settle for a ride of my cock.”  
”That so?” The other grinned dangerously but backed off when he noticed Záhovar's cold, steady gaze. Praktash gave him a smug grin that grew wider as he watched Margzat fumble with his loincloth, trying to tie it with still trembling hands.  
”Speakin' of submission... Where're the prisoners we took from the Crags?”  
”Bound in one of the store rooms,” Záhovar replied. ”I plan on interrogating them tomorrow. Why do you ask?”  
”Well... Mind if I do some interrogatin' of my own?”  
”Plan to finish what the krîtar began?” she asked him with a teasing smile that Praktash returned with a predatory leer.  
”I sure do... Wanna watch that too?”  
She shook her head. ”I shall pass this time. Let me know how it went tomorrow. And... do enjoy yourself.”  
”Oh, I will!” He leapt to his feet and made for the store rooms with bouncy steps. Margzat looked after him while grinning like an idiot. Then he noticed Záhovar's smirk and blushed so much that his face turned even darker than it usually was. Záhovar took the drinking skin that Praktash had forgotten and raised it to Margzat.  
”To enthusiasm.”  
The grin returned to the kritar's face. ”To bloody exhaustion.”

 


	17. Clutches And Clarity

When Praktash returned in the morning, he brought some very interesting intel with him. Sulmurz was busy combing and braiding Záhovar's hair when he entered, and the sight made Praktash pause a little.  
”I milked them dry,” he happily proclaimed as he handed Záhovar the note, enjoying the resulting twitch in Sulmurz's face.  
She arched an eyebrow. ”'Them'?”  
”The first one passed out before I had even finished. Bloody weak tarks. But they were _very_ eager to tell me all their darkest secrets before I was done with them.”  
”No doubt you had them begging for mercy as well.”  
”Oh, they only did that in the beginning. In the end it was more like...” He threw his head back, closed his eyes and imitated the voice of a tark male, screaming and moaning in mingled pain, disbelief and intense pleasure. ”Somethin' like that.” Sulmurz let out a disturbed little gagging noise and Praktash winked at him with a seductive little smile. ”Envious, drartul?”  
Sulmurz ignored the question.  
”Did you kill them after?” Záhovar asked.  
”Didn't plan to, but one of them had a heart failure. The other one's fine. Or... well... He's not dead anyway. But I wouldn't ask him to walk anytime soon.”  
”Mmh. And the female?”  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”Was that a serious question? I didn't touch her.”  
”I did not think so. But is she still alive?”  
”She was movin' at any rate. Didn't look all that close. Why d'you ask?”  
”If you pass by there again, ask her if she knows how to cook. Depending on her answer I might bring her along when we pass the trade stop and give her to Angrenoc.” She smirked. ”As a token of good faith. And a reminder of the fate awaiting those who turn against the might of Lugburz.”  
”Perhaps you should leave one of the guys I fucked too. If I give him a few more rounds there won't be much fight left in him.”

  
Záhovar cried out as Sulmurz suddenly yanked her hair. Praktash watched with a fascinated little smile as she turned on the terrified Sulmurz, grabbed the neck of his leather gorget with an insane leer that told the story of his blood-drenched end and yanked him close.  
”Never again,” she hissed and brushed his temple with light fingertips. Sulmurz shook his head vigorously; he looked like he was about to wet his pants at any moment. His lower lip even trembled. Then his eyes widened as she lowered her hand and trailed the lacing on his pants with a steel-clawed finger. ”On your knees. Now.”  
Praktash lifted his drinking skin to his lips to drown his purr as Sulmurz's knees hit the carpeted tent floor behind Záhovar. She gave her victim a critical glance. ”Closer. _Closer._ ” Sulmurz scooched closer until Záhovar was satisfied and he was so close to her that he could smell her skin. She gave him an appreciative little smirk as he looked meekly up at her. ”Good. Now keep braiding.”  
Short as he was, Sulmurz had trouble reaching her neck from his kneeling position but Záhovar tilted her head back a little to help him. Praktash grinned and gave Sulmurz a telling nod, then winked at the Officer. Her smirk and raised eyebrow was all the answer he needed. ”Alright, so maybe handin' him two might be overdoin' it a little. What'cha gonna do with the rest?”  
”I will leave them here for now. I doubt that they know much of value, and if time proves me wrong then they are the Mouth's problem, not mine. I am sure the good Captain here can send a messenger to Lugburz with their testimonies himself should the need arise.”  
”Who is this Mouth? Never heard of him before.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”He is... a Mouth. To tell you the truth, I do not know much else. I have only met him twice; first during the elevation ceremony when we both received our positions, and later after his... change. He was a regular Man before, but now... Now I am not sure. No wraith, that is for sure, but everything he was has been wiped away. He is the chief ambassador, the Lieutenant of the district of Lugburz and in charge of the flow of goods and knowledge save that which goes to and from Blog Shakâmb.”  
”Anythin' we should know if we encounter him?”  
”Only that his voice holds tremendous power; guard your thoughts and mouth at all times when near him, or you will soon tell him your heart's deepest, darkest desire if he but asks you for it.”  
Praktash scowled. ”Wonderful... More mindmessin'. Y'know, I'm almost gonna miss bein' on the road when we get back. For all the rough goin', things're way simpler out here.”  
”I am inclined to agree with you, although I suspect that this feeling is nothing that a day's tumble in a soft bed cannot cure.” She was looking straight at Sulmurz with a completely impassive face as she said this, and the Orc's confusion almost made Praktash laugh out loud. _Skai, that teasin' little makatok..! No bloody wonder he's so testy 'round her!_  
  
Sulmurz kept his eyes fixed on the floor once Záhovar let him go with her eyes. ”'M done,” he mumbled once he had tied the braid off.  
”Thank you,” Záhovar said and Sulmurz could not keep from wondering what the fuck she had to thank him for since he had no choice but to obey. She dismissed Praktash and the Uruk left with a predatory leer, but not before he had snaked an arm around her waist and licked her neck all the way from the little hollow at the base up to her chin, an act that left Sulmurz seething with hate and envy. Then Záhovar stood and cleared her throat. As Sulmurz lifted his eyes from the floor, she let the robe fall and his eyes suddenly felt like they had grown to twice their normal size. She was wearing her regular elbow-high gauntlets and thigh-high greaves, but instead of the cuirass and tunic she was wearing a short slip in a fabric so thin that it was nearly see-through. It was sewn to hug the upper part of her body like a second skin but hang loose around her hips. Underneath she wore a strange piece of underwear, like the crotch part of a pair of pants or a loincloth without the sheets of leather hanging down in front and back, held in place only by a thin string around her hips. It was _definitely_ not something meant to be worn in public.  
”You have done well,” she murmured as she stepped close and ran her fingers through his hair, trailing his ear with a thumb. Sulmurz purred and both loved and hated himself for giving in so easily, but how could he not? Even her scent whispered to him of female power and the promise of the wildest fuck he would ever get, if he but proved himself worthy of sharing her bed. Or tent. Or whatever piece of solid surface that happened to be available the moment she said 'yes'.  
She lifted a hand as he reached out for her and wagged her finger in warning. ”You have done well,” she repeated, ”so I grant you permission to _watch_ me. And do whatever you like in the meantime.”  
Sulmurz let his hands fall back down. _Just watch? For fuck's sake, this isn't fair!_ He gave her a disappointed little scowl as she picked up Praktash's report and placed it in a leather dossier to keep it from becoming ruined by dust or rain. But as she did so, she leaned forward onto the desk so that the slip slid up a little. Sulmurz cocked his head to see more but she slowly stood up, hiding the treasure she was taunting him with. He could not resist leaning sideways to catch just one last glimpse and kept doing so until he fell over with a grunt. Záhovar threw him a glance and he grew apprehensive, but she only gave him an almost playful smile and leaned forward again. Sulmurz grined back and purred as she rolled her hips. _This is bloody_ unfair! _That Uruk gets to finger her all he likes and I just get... to... wait. She said I could do whatever I wanted while watching, didn't she?_  
His hands found the lacing on his breeches and started tugging hard on the knots. Záhovar smiled appreciatively as he finally managed to free his cock. He grabbed it and was just about to start wanking when she held a finger up and wagged it at him. Sulmurz froze and gave her a tortured, questioning look. The finger stopped and he watched in rapt fascination as her pink little tongue reached out and licked it. Záhovar glanced at him with the same playful smile as before and nodded; Sulmurz groaned loudly as he was finally allowed to wank.   
Záhovar watched him for a brief while before straightening up and turning towards him. Sulmurz whimpered as gauntleted hands wandered over all that black-patterned skin that he so badly wanted to grope and fondle, tugging the thin fabric that veiled it from sight. He hoped she would tear it off at some point.

Záhovar slowly squatted in front of him with a teasing grin that made Sulmurz purr. She licked her finger again and his eyes followed it as it ran down between her breasts, steel claw tearing little holes in the fabric. His hand moved on its own towards her thigh and he grunted as she swatted it away.  
”Tease,” he purred. Záhovar's only reply was an eager smile as she knelt and let her hands wander downwards. Sulmurz could hardly believe his eyes, but his nose told all he wanted to know about what she was doing. _She's not going to..? Oh, she is! Oh,_ fuck _me!  
_ ”You sure ya don't want a ride on this?” he growled invitingly and stroked himself with slow, teasing moves.  
”Do not push your luck,” Záhovar gasped.  
”Ya saw me back there; I could give ya a real sweet ride.”  
”Think you that looks are everything? You also have stamina to prove.”  
”Sta... what?” Sulmurz squeaked as steel claws appeared at his thick neck. He did not need to see those claws in action to know exactly how sharp they were. All of a sudden, all he could see was a pair of demonic, blue eyes.  
”If you finish before I do, there will be _consequences._ ”   
Sulmurz stopped fondling himself.  
”Oh, do not stop,” Záhovar murmured with a devilish smile. ”The same consequences will apply should you falter.”  
”What consequences?” Sulmurz whispered, but of course there was no answer. _She's gonna bring in the Uruk, I just know it!_ He desperately tried to focus on the here and now, but his brain just wouldn't leave him alone. It kept conjuring up images of toxic green eyes, of slate grey hands wandering downwards, of a glistening black tongue licking his balls, of soft plump lips enveloping the head of his-

Sulmurz squeaked and squeezed his cock to keep from spunking. _What the fuck just happened?!_ He immediately started ogling Záhovar in an attempt to forget the confusion inside.  
”Look, I know I can't touch,” he groaned, ”but can I sniff ya?”  
Záhovar stood up and positioned herself over him, standing with one foot on each side of his head. Sulmurz purred and grinned like an idiot as she untied her underwear and let it fall down on his face. Záhovar gave him a seductive glance as she returned to her previous spot and Sulmurz had to rein himself in again as the scent of her arousal punched him in the crotch. Her sounds did not improve matters, or perhaps they did.  
”Ye're getting close,” he purred after a while and was rewarded with another delicious little gasp. Her eyes roamed his body and he bared his fangs in what he hoped was a seductive, inviting leer as he rolled his hips and bucked hard into his own fist, showing off exactly how hard he could thrust if she would just get on it. Záhovar whimpered ever so quietly and Sulmurz could not resist anymore. He was so _close,_ but he held back and grabbed the strap that held Záhovar's left gauntlet in place around her upper arm and pulled her close.  
”I'm gon' fuck ya,” he growled. ”One sweet night, I'm gon' do it! An' you'll be doing nothing but squeal my name throughout'n beg me not to stop!”  
Sulmurz had no idea where his audacity had come from. He quickly let go as Záhovar leered at him, but she did not strike. ”Think you yourself able?” she hissed in a challenging tone that would have made Sulmurz's knees fail him if he had not already been lying down. He snapped his fangs at her and she leaned over him with a moan.  
”Fuck,” Sulmurz groaned. ”Can't... fuck, I _can't..!_ ”  
”Do _not_ soil me,” Záhovar said.   
”P-promise,” he managed to grunt. Záhovar let out a few short gasps, then held her breath briefly before coming with a shuddering moan. The sound and scent was too much and Sulmurz's cock _exploded._ He barely had time to put a hand over the tip to keep from spunking everywhere and he writhed in ecstasy for he knew not how long. Once the pleasure abated, he looked down at the mess that was his lower abdomen. _I shot it out all at once! Skai karkû-dhâmab what a woman!_  
As he looked up, still gasping, he realised that he had somehow managed to shoot at least one load right into Záhovar's face. Her expression turned his insides to ice and as she hissed, Sulmurz's heart shot out of his chest and he fainted.  
  
  
Graznikh was drinking again when Praktash found him two nights later. He had taken up residence on the far side of the palisade where it joined with the mountain wall on the eastern side of the stronghold.  
”Hey buddy. How ya doin'?”  
Graznikh snorted quietly. ”Been better.”  
Praktash fondly scratched his knee with a blunt claw. ”Wanted to talk to ya.”  
”Ya sure you wanna do that right now? I'm kinda drunk.”  
”Mmm-hm. But not here; c'mon!”  
Intrigued, Graznikh jumped down from the palisade. He wobbled a little as he followed the red mane through the stronghold until they reached the store rooms that now served as gaols.  
”We gonna play with the prisoners?”  
”Hm? Nar, there're none left. She gave most of 'em to the Uruks.”  
”Hunh.” Then he frowned as Praktash led him into an empty room. In the stone floor, someone had bolted down a pair of thick wooden beams in an X-shape. In each end was fastened a sturdy iron shackle, making it a simple but efficient restraining device. Graznikh smirked a little as he tested the strength of the cross.  
”So she's gonna have me tortured? Or is it more mind-messing this time? Would be bloody fitting.”  
”I don't think that's her plan,” Praktash said as he came closer. Graznikh turned around and let himself get shackled to the cross. ”I'm guessin' none of us're gonna enjoy this.”  
Graznikh chuckled mirthlessly. ”For all your antics yesternight you don't know her all that well. She got off just as much on Margzat nearly pissing himself with fear as she did on the sight of your mouth on his cock.”  
Praktash shrugged and nuzzled his ear. ”You like losin' control too, buddy.”  
”That's not the same,” Graznikh protested as Praktash began unbuckling his armour. ”There was a moment where he really thought he was gonna die; _that's_ when she lit up like a bloody beacon. On that fear. That's not normal.”  
”'Cause you've never felt good about slittin' some deservin' bastard's throat, bloodthirsty little snaga that you are?” Praktash chuckled and gave him a lecherous look as he squatted down to remove his greaves and fasten the cuffs around his ankles. ”She's no more sick than you are.”  
Graznikh wanted to continue to argue, but there was no point in doing so. ”Just send her in.”  
”I don't know... You look kinda good, all tied up like that.”  
Graznikh could not help but grin at the memories that comment brought up. ”Oh, you..!”  
Praktash grinned back and winked, but then he grew serious. ”Just a heads up; you've been a selfish, grumpy arse this entire trip. Whatever patience I cooked up before we left Lugburz is runnin' dangerously low.”  
”I know,” Graznikh murmured. ”Didn't expect ya to stick around at all after what happened in Nurngost.”  
”Thought about it,” Praktash admitted, ”even asked Záhovar to let me go. But she wouldn't have it, an' now I'm kinda glad for that. But I miss ya, buddy. I miss the Graznikh that knew how to laugh an' joke an' fool around. The one I had back in the stash room, an' again when things were fine between us an' her. Remember?”  
”Yeah, I remember. Don'tcha think I miss that too?” Graznikh hung his head. ”I wish I'd listened to ya, buddy. I wish I'd let her go. I wish I'd never heard her there at the sparring grounds. I wish I'd been satisfied with what I had instead o' chasin' ghosts the way I did.”  
Praktash grabbed his head and forced him to meet his eyes. ”You don't mean that, I know ya don't! That's one o' the things I like about ya, that you never give up! You fought so hard to get what you wanted, an' it made me wanna fight too!”  
Graznikh grinned weakly. ”'Cause you couldn't let a snaga best ya.”  
”Don't gimme that crap, I don't give a shit what you are! You could be a snuffler for all I care, I'd still...” He fell silent and winced. ”Okay; maybe not a snuffler. You wouldn't survive the stuff I do to ya if you were. But that's not the point. The point is-”  
”I know the point,” Graznikh murmured with a fond smile. ”Ya don't need to say. Now did you just tie me up here for a chat, or did ya have something else in mind?”  
”I did. I promised Záhovar I'd get ya someplace you couldn't run from.”  
Graznikh let out a resigned sigh. ”Fine. She might find me a tough nut to crack.”  
”I think I'll let her explain,” Praktash replied as he took a few steps back. He nodded to Záhovar as she strode in, and she returned the nod before giving Graznikh a critical glance.  
”What, no whip?” Graznikh sneered. ”I woulda thought Sulmurz'd throw everything he had at ya.”  
”I have no need for whips.”  
”Too bad. I kinda looked forward to that part.” Graznikh's eyes darkened with hate, following Záhovar's every move as if he was the predator and she the prey, not the other way around. She reached out to him through the bond but he immediately shut her out and kept her out, even as she probed it for an opening where she could force her way inside his mind.  
”You really think you can break me, little Dark-Elf?” he half growled, half whispered with a toothy sneer. The air grew cold and Praktash was once again grateful for the gift Záhovar had given him; the ability to see through illusions. If he had not had that, he probably would have bolted the moment he saw the powerful one she now threw in Graznikh's face. But even so, it broke his heart to see Graznikh's reaction.

Graznikh's eyes widened until they threatened to fall out and an invisible knife stabbed his heart and twisted hard. Záhovar stumbled and fell to her knees; when she rose again, she did so as Whindaër. He refused to believe his eyes, but there she was. The same shining blue eyes, soft brown hair, the same scent of juniper wood shavings, fresh birch leaves and cinnamon and that special scent that was so much _her._ She even sounded right as she whispered his name, mispronouncing it in that funny way of hers that he had grown to love. But Whindaër was gone, trapped in darkness far beyond the reach of his pitiful, impotent claws, her body possessed by the insane evil that was Záhovar. This _could_ not be her.  
”You fuckin' wraith-bitch,” he hissed. ”You stay the fuck away from her! She didn't deserve any o' the shit ya sick fucks put her through; I won't let ya use her against me too! Whin, for fuck's sake, get away from here! Go back to that golden place beyond the Sea where ya belong!!”  
Praktash saw Záhovar inhale at those words, but she did not break the illusion. The eerie creature with the painfully glowing eyes that she portrayed seemed to tear up, face slowly twisting with grief and pain. Graznikh broke even further.  
”You mindmessing monster!!” he roared, eyes wide with fury and grief. ”I'll kill ya! I'll fuckin' tear ya to pieces, I'll shred every piece of undead flesh 'til there's nothing left of ya!! I swear I'll kill ya! I hate ya! Záhovar, I HATE YA!!!”  
The illusion of Whindaër remained but her eyes changed into Záhovar's. That was all it took to send Graznikh berserking, bellowing wordlessly and fighting the restraints so hard that his wrists were rubbed raw and began to bleed in places. Praktash quickly checked that no serious harm was done, then he retreated again. Graznikh did not heed him; he was so focused on murdering Záhovar that he saw nothing else. At that point, Záhovar released the other spell she had been preparing and Graznikh howled in agony.

A while later, Praktash could not stand another moment in the interrogation chamber. Graznikh had almost managed to tear the shackles loose so he had been forced to reinforce them with rope for Záhovar's safety. Once he was done, he excused himself and walked out into the open air where Margzat stood on guard along with Golnauk. The screams echoed from within until the moment he reached the barrier at the entrance, invisible to all but him and Záhovar. It trapped all sound inside and as he passed it, an eerie silence fell. It was almost deafening. Both Uruks looked up as he emerged and he made sure to keep up appearances as he passed them and headed for Záhovar's tent. Just before he reached it, he heard footsteps coming up behind him. The krîtar cocked his head and gave him an inquisitive look that Praktash answered by nodding towards the tent. Once inside he sank down on Záhovar's bed, grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it. Then he allowed the tears to come.  
Margzat watched him in silence for a while, unsure of what to do. Then the creak of armour and the groaning of wood was heard as he sat down beside him, leaning his elbows on his knees. They sat like that for a good long while, Praktash sobbing and whimpering into the pillow and Margzat waiting patiently. Eventually the tears dried up.  
”I'm thinkin',” Margzat began quietly, ”from the look o' ya that things aren't goin' all 'at well.”  
Praktash shook his head. ”It's not workin'. The thing she's tryin'; it's not takin' hold.”  
”I'm thinkin' she'll come up with somethin' else.”  
”But _what?_ I dunno anythin' else that might work, I don't even know what's wrong if what I thought isn't it!”  
”What did ya think?”  
Praktash hesitated, but Margzat already knew about the bond and many other things. Surely there was no harm in filling him in a little more?  
”I thought he was under compulsion,” Praktash said quietly. ”Y'know, since he's been actin' so weird towards her for a good long while. I thought... Maybe someone had messed with him like that, tryin' to drive the two of 'em apart to harm her, y'know?”  
”If 'at's the case, shouldn't she know?”  
”It shouldn't even be possible. Berserkers can't be influenced like that.”  
Margzat looked surprised. ”Didn't know that. Ya sure?”  
”As sure as I can be; she told me 'bout it, way back when I first entered her service.”  
”So 'at's what this is all about?” Praktash nodded and Margzat looked thoughtful for a while. ”But... if he's not compelled, isn't 'at a good thing?”  
Praktash shook his head and placed a hand over his eyes to quell the tears. ”If he's compelled, then there'd be a solution. It'd mean he's not responsible for all the shit he's spewed. But if he's not... Then what? What do I do? What'll _she_ do?” Praktash began to cry again. ”What if she decides she's had enough? What if... What if she _kills_ him? I can't lose my buddy, not now, not like this... Not ever! Graz, oh Graz... I don't wanna lose ya!”  
Margzat was unsure of what to say to that, but he felt that he had to say _something._ ”Ye're not alone, Bukrazikh. Whatever happens. Even if... the worst should happen. Ya know that, right?”  
”You're not Graz... I'm sorry 'Zat, but you'll never be. Ya can't fill that spot in me.”  
”Not lookin' to,” Margzat lied. ”I can fill other places.”  
Praktash gave him a teary, incredulous glance. ”This is no fuckin' time for dick jokes!”  
Margzat was taken aback by the sudden outburst. ”I-I wasn't... Didn't mean 'at.” Then he grinned. Praktash looked away but did not bury his face in the pillow again. Margzat took the opportunity to lean in close and gently bump his nose against the little redhead's temple. ”I'm no sorcerer, Bukrazikh. I can't do shit to help ya for real; this is High Officer territory. All I can do is try to push ya back up. Ya okay with 'at?”  
Praktash nodded weakly. Then he threw the pillow on the bed and leaned his forehead against Margzat's armoured shoulder. The krîtar wrapped his hale arm around him, carefully making sure that he never noticed his victorious grin.

  
Záhovar eventually had to give up. Both she and Graznikh were exhausted, sweat running down their faces and staining cloth and leather alike. Praktash had returned and was checking on Graznikh's bleeding arms, smearing healing salve where the rope had burned his hide. The moment the berserking faded, Graznikh's head snapped up and he stared at Záhovar with such agony and anguish that she could barely meet his gaze.  
”KILL ME!!!” he howled at the top of his lungs and Praktash jumped in surprise. ”I can't take this any more, Just fuckin' kill me while I'm still _me!_ ”  
Záhovar stared back, eyes wide with shock. Then all emotion drained from her face and she watched as Praktash put an arm around Graznikh, who let out a roar of frustration and pain and began to rock back and forth in his bonds.  
”Hurts,” he hissed between gritted teeth. ”Hurts, hurts, hurts. Skai, make it stop!”  
”I will,” Praktash replied. ”Here, drink this.”  
Graznikh eagerly gulped the painkiller down before slumping down with closed eyes. Slowly his face smoothed out as the drugs took hold. Then he looked up.  
”Get outta here,” he told Praktash. ”I gotta talk to her while I still can.”  
Praktash nodded and trotted out. The moment he was gone, Graznikh looked at Záhovar with eyes that were clearer than they had been for many Moon-turns.   
”Shut up'n listen,” he said as she opened her mouth. ”I dunno what ya did, but I'm clear for the moment. I can feel it returning though, so there's not much time. _Don't_ give up on me. I know I've hurt ya, I know I've been an idiot, but _don't_ give up. I swear I'll make it all up to ya an' then some, once I'm free of whatever this is. Give it some time, then make me berserk again when my steam's up. I think you're onto something here.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”You have my word.”  
Graznikh's face creased briefly into a weak smile. ”I'm still here, âmbal. Don't give up.” Then he scowled. ”Skai, it's coming back. Get outta here; send in Praktash, I'll fill him in once...”  
Záhovar quickly backed away and left before the alien influence returned. _I am onto something. He is still there._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makatok - genderneutral slut (in case y'all forgot. In the 3487th edition of the Orcish-Westron dictionary published by the Academy of Blog Shakâmb there's a picture of Praktash next to this word)  
> Karkû-dhâmab - cock-fang (it probably has some deep philosophical meaning for Orcs, I dunno)


	18. For Whatever It's Worth

The Ruzh Moraut garrison would stay a little while longer to nurse their wounds before returning home, so Záhovar gave the order to leave them behind. Margzat was only too happy to obey that command; he had decided that he was not overly fond of Captain Fashoth and the drartuls were beginning to get uppity; he was not sure that he could get out on top if he was challenged, crippled as he was because of his broken arm. Praktash had told him that the bone was properly set and that it was healing fine, but he did not wish to challenge Fate needlessly.  
Záhovar had the female tark tied up and put Golnauk and Urkhish to guard her. ”No unsanctioned fucking or groping,” she told them sternly. ”And do not let her near any weapons. _Especially_ sharp ones.”  
”Aye, Lug-durbatar,” Golnauk replied and Urkhish beat his chest with a gauntleted fist in salute.  
”So what are my orders?” Praktash asked. ”Should I waste healin' salve on her, or save it for the useful folks?”  
”Look her over once we stop for the morning and make sure her feet do not wear down too fast. Have her carried if need be.”  
Graznikh made sure to keep his distance as the uzhâk formed up inside the gate. He and Akûl would scout ahead in case any of the rebels had eluded the Uruks' grasp; he doubted that it was necessary but he was not in the mood to be social so this command suited him just fine. Margzat had passed it on to him, which made it even easier to swallow. The krîtar had acted a bit strange, and Graznikh wondered how much Praktash had told him. _Probably more than he should. That one's far too trusting for someone who's already been through so much shit._

It took them far less time to reach the trade stop now that they had no wagons to slow them down. Angrenoc had already found a new cook but was smart enough to be grateful for an extra pair of hands, as he should be when presented with a gift from a high-ranking High Officer. Záhovar was given free room and board and the uzhâk stayed outside the village until it was time to leave. When they left the settlement the next evening after a brief visit to the monastery, Graznikh rode next to Praktash for a while, exchanging a few fondly spoken words with him. He felt decidedly better afterwards. As he prepared to leave for the next scouting round, he caught Mikbork looking more anxious than usual.  
”What?” he asked, making the snuffler jump.  
”Err...” Mikbork hesitated.  
”Spit it out,” Graznikh said with a lopsided grin. ”I don't bite.”  
”I, err... I was wonderin' if, if... Well, there's this stronghold up in th' mountains, this side o' the mountains, an'... I was wonderin' if... It's not very far, not far at all really, an'-”  
”Lemme guess; you wanna ask if we could make a detour there, 'cause you've got stuff to do?”  
Mikbork looked even more nervous as he nodded. Záhovar had obviously been listening in on them, because she turned to Margzat.  
”Krîtar, have the uzhâk turn north towards the mountains. I want to inspect the strongholds.”  
”As ya say, Lug-durbatar,” Margzat replied with a perfectly straight face and gave the command.  
”Why'd ya wanna visit a stronghold?” Praktash asked her as they changed direction and left the road.  
”Academic interest. I want to know if the strongholds here are governed differently from those within our borders, and if so, how they differ.”  
”Right.”  
”Well, there's your answer I guess,” Graznikh whispered to Mikbork. The snuffler's face was a study in mingled gratitude, anticipation and, oddly enough, concern.  
  
The terrain steadily got rougher the further from the road they came, but Mikbork seemed to know the area and soon he picked out the trail that led to the stronghold. The ûzhak formed up around the High Officer when they got closer and stopped well out of arrow's reach. Ghakû went closer and exchanged a few shouted words with the guards. When he returned he nodded.  
”It's safe,” he said. ”They weren't too fond of having Uruks on their doorstep, but they won't turn away a Top One.”  
”Perhaps it is best that we leave the uzhâk outside,” Záhovar told Margzat. ”We are not here to raid them, and I do not want any incidents due to mutual hostility. I do not think they will attack me, and should they be that foolish then my Lug-snaga are protection enough.”  
”Right,” Margzat nodded. ”Uzhâk! Make camp!”  
Záhovar continued up to the stronghold followed by Graznikh, Praktash, Sulmurz, Mikbork, Ghakû and Kraash. The guards let them in without question and one guided them into the main hall. Graznikh had mixed feelings about the place. It smelled, sounded, looked and _felt_ like home, with one big exception; there were no Orc women, no cubs, and the inhabitants kept glaring daggers at Praktash.  
”I'm guessin' there's a reason they don't like Uruks,” Praktash commented as he noticed the hostile looks.  
”There are many rogue strongholds in the remote corners of Burzuzg,” Záhovar explained quietly, ”and the Black Uruks' main purpose is to keep order. They regularly raid those strongholds and take any females or young that they find. The male cubs become snaga in the inland fortresses and the females are sent to the breeding pits. They usually kill everyone else, unless they lay down their arms without resistance.”  
”Skai...” Praktash muttered with a wince. _So that's what they're doing when they're not huntin' raiders. Cub-stealers...  
_ While Záhovar shared a few words with the chief, who was clearly uncomfortable about meeting a Top One, Graznikh kept an eye on Mikbork. He kept stealing glances at the corners of the hall, as if searching for something.  
”Stick close, snuffler.”  
Mikbork nodded, but Graznikh knew that he would not obey.

  
Despite having watched the snuffler the whole evening, Graznikh almost missed the moment when he sneaked away. After asking for the location of the bagronk as a cover-up, he quickly changed direction once he was out of sight and followed him. Mikbork did not seem to expect being followed and Graznikh could easily pick out his scent among the others that littered the stronghold. After trailing him through the caverns, including a few passages where Graznikh had to crawl on all fours to get through, he ended up near the entrance to the natural cave system deep below the Outer Fence. When he heard a squeak he hid behind a large stalagmite just in time to watch Mikbork get pounced by another goblin. But it was no fight; both kept squealing and purring happily as they rolled on the wet cave floor. Graznikh couldn't keep the grin off his face as he stepped out of hiding.  
”So my snuffler's got a girlfriend, eh? Now I get why ya wanted to go here.” Both goblins shrieked in surprise and fear and leapt to their feet. Mikbork quickly shielded his 'girlfriend' with his own body.  
”I can explain!” he squeaked.  
”No need to,” Graznikh chuckled. ”But next time ya wanna go bang yer gal, say so. Don't sneak out on me like that. I don't like disobedient snaga.”  
”She's not my girlfriend,” Mikbork growled. ”She's... my mate.”  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”Mate?” He gave the little Orc woman a glance. She had dark brown skin, black shaggy hair and the large eyes, ears and nostrils that were common among the small, cave-dwelling snaga Orcs. Her eyes glowed a bronze-like orange in the dark, and the only thing that truly set her apart from others was a large corkscrew lock that hung down over her right ear.  
”Yeah...” Mikbork looked down. ”Ya heard what th' Top One said, 'bout Uruks'n what they do... I told ya 'bout it too. We're from one o' those strongholds, in th' Desolation. Grew up there, didn't know nothing else. She'd just whelped our first litter when they came. I couldn't do shit to help 'em... They took her'n the sprogs an' everyone else what didn't run or got killed tryin' to fight. Stoopid bastards... But I tracked 'em, I did. Broke into the cage, let 'em all out. In the chaos, we ran. We got lost an' ended up here. One o' the big ones here, he agreed to keep her safe... for a price.” The snuffler scowled. ”I went to Morigost, was a good little snaga an' kept nickin' tokens to pay him with. Came back here 's often as I could.”  
”So that's why you've been stealin' from me? One token at a time, so you thought I wouldn't notice?”  
Mikbork's eyes grew wide and the fear in his scent peaked. ”Y'knew..?”  
Graznikh grinned. ”I keep far better check on my finances than the rest. You can keep stealin' from Kraash by the way, the daft bastard doesn't know what to do with his tokens anyway.”  
”Micky?” the goblin girl whimpered. ”Whazz gonna happen now? He _knows!_ He said he wouldn't do this anymore if they found out!”  
”Who?” Graznikh asked.  
”Kughurz,” Mikbork snarled. ”Big guy who'd protect her. He said he wouldn't do it any longer if the Top Ones found out. Too risky for him, hidin' a snaga bound for the pits.”  
”Micky... I don't wanna live like this,” the Orcess said. ”I'm sick o' seein' nothing but this cave, starin' at the wall, nothin' to do.”  
Mikbork's face twisted in grief and anger. ”I'm not lettin' 'em send ya to the pits, Zosh! I won't! Our cubs _died_ in there, an' yer sisters too!”  
”'S not much different in here anyway,” she spat. ”He keeps fuckin' me anytime he wanna when I'm outta season, an' it hurts! Stings when I piss after, too.”  
”And when you're in?” Graznikh asked.  
”There's a little hole back there,” Zosh said and pointed to the back of the cave. ”If I stay in there he can't reach me. A week or two isn't so bad, but I can't live in there. He won't feed me if I don't come out.”  
”Snaga can't be choosers, Zosh!” Mikbork said. Then he turned back to Graznikh with a pleading look. ”Could ya... not tell anyone 'bout this? She's all I've got, I don't wanna lose her!”  
Graznikh gave the little Orcess a scrutinising look. Despite years in confinement with rough treatment and little or bad food she looked healthy and strong, something he used to expect from old snaga stock back in the White Mountains. But there was something else too; every time they looked at each other, the little Orcs seemed to glow and there was something in their eyes, something that resonated within him in a way he had only ever encountered once before. Graznikh's eyes widened ever so slightly as he understood.   
”Zosh, izzit? You been a snaga all your life?”   
Zosh shook her head. ”Th' stronghold back there was one for us little ones. We stuck together. I did a bit o' ev'rything. But 'at was a long time ago.”  
”So can ya do anything? Like, regular snaga work? Or have ya just been this other guy's opa-snaga all this time?”  
She shrugged. ”I can tan leather, fix an' mend clothes... clean boots, cook too I guess, but not very good. Tend a fire, sharpen weapons an' fix armour, dig bagronks... Not much else. But I can learn! If...” She looked down. ”If someone shows me how.”  
  
Mikbork frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between Graznikh and Zosh. ”Wha... Whaddya gonna do? Don't tell anyone!”  
”Don't worry little guy, I won't tell anyone... None other than my master. Since I'm not on speaking terms with her, I'm gonna talk to my buddy, an' he can pass this on. She might be in need of a snaga.”  
”What?!” Mikbork squealed.  
Zosh looked confused. ”'She'?”  
”Your mate's gone up in the world lately,” Graznikh told her with a grin, ignoring Mikbork's vigorously shaking head. ”He's been lead scout for my master, one of the highest-ranking High Officers in Lugburz. Done a bloody fine job of it, too. Now, lord Záhovar – yeah, she's a woman, but not one of 'em Black Tarks – she's not one to ignore a fine service, and she's not above rewarding even little snaga. Also, she _needs_ a snaga; I'm sick o' doing her laundry and polishing her boots.”  
Zosh looked more and more hopeful, but Mikbork looked like he was going to explode. ”I'm not lettin' my girl near that crazy Uruk!!”  
”You don't have much of a choice now, do ya? Besides, he wouldn't lay a finger on her. You know he's not interested in plashnak.”  
”And that rebel tark he did?”  
”That? That was just Praktash's idea of torture. He wouldn't do that to any of us. Well, except Záhovar, but that's a different story. And Sulmurz. Margzat, me... Possibly Ghakû if he asks nicely... Anyway, Zosh'll be far safer if she gets in good with him than she'd be in here.”  
Mikbork did not look the slightest bit convinced, but Zosh kept tugging the hem of his leather vest. ”C'mon Micky, lemme outta here!”  
”It's dangerous out there,” Mikbork tried. ”He wouldn't know a snaga's lot, he's a big one, a tough fighter an'...” He fell silent as Graznikh squatted before them, going down on their level.  
”Ya think I don't know what bein' a snaga's like? I started out in the mines, for fuck's sake! T'was sheer bloody luck that I grew to this size. Besides, what's your options? Yeah, you could lose your mate out there. She could also lose you out there and be stuck here for good. You could also lose her to the bloodrot after gettin' split by that 'protector's' filthy cock over'n over. You're not payin' him to protect her, you're payin' him to fuck her apart. Keepin' her trapped in here like this just so you can happily keep snufflin' around outside's just fuckin' selfish!”  
Mikbork had closed his eyes and his shoulders were shaking. _No doubt he knows how fucked-up this is,_ Graznikh thought, _but he's so hooked by the bond that he doesn't dare to look at alternatives.  
_ ”Look,” Graznikh continued a little softer, ”what I'm offering's not bad. I'm not out to kill her, no more'n I've been out to kill you. It might sound queer, but stuck with lord Záhovar's probably the safest spot there could be. She doesn't abuse her snaga, not even when she's pissed or when they fuck up. Not only that; she'd be with _you_. Right next to ya, where you can keep an eye on her and she one on you. Wouldn't that be better than leavin' her in here? 'S only a matter o' time before someone else finds out and takes advantage, you know that.”  
  
Mikbork gave Zosh a tortured look while pulling the corkscrew lock on her head gently, and she put a clawed little hand on his shoulder.   
”We knew this wouldn't work forever, Micky,” she said softly. ”We knew someone'd find out. 'S better this way, we could be together, not hafta split over'n over. I'll make do, I'll be fine.”  
He gave her a lopsided, defeated little grin. ”I hate that nickname.”  
”I know,” she grinned back. He grumbled a little and Graznikh chuckled.  
”Don't try an' fight it, little guy. They always win in the end anyway.”  
”See?” Zosh chirped. Mikbork's only response was a stuck-out tongue, then he gave her a smouldering look that was as far from the nervous, shy snuffler as he could possibly get. Graznikh could take a hint and left to not interfere further with their ”quality time”. But he stopped at the entrance to the little cave to deliver one last warning.  
”I wouldn't call him 'Micky' so that Praktash hears,” he told Zosh. ”I fear we might hafta mop him up from the floor if ya do. He's weird like that.”   
”Th' fuck does 'at even mean?” Zosh asked with a confused frown.  
”You'll find out when you meet him,” Graznikh chuckled before leaving. ”Just call me out when ya wanna get things sorted. You know where to find me.”   
The last thing he heard was the snagas' high-pitched chattering voices echoing in the silence of the caves.  
”He's a bloody softie, inn'e Micky?”  
”Shut up 'bout 'im now! I'm gon' show ya something what ain't soft anywhere...”  
  
  
Mikbork returned much later, what little hair he had tousled, bleeding scratches and bite marks all over and with a most satisfied look on his face. After seeking Graznikh out in the main cavern he waited out of sight with Zosh as the Lug-snaga went to fetch Praktash. They soon returned, and the Uruk's eyes grew starry as he spotted the goblins. ”There's two of them now?”  
”Yeah,” Graznikh chuckled. ”This is Zosh, Mikbork's- hey!” Zosh squealed as Praktash snatched her up and Graznikh had to hold Mikbork back by the belt to keep him from going 'murderous goblin rage' on the Uruk.  
”It's fuckin' _adorable!!”_ Praktash exclaimed as he cuddled the squealing and giggling little Orcess. ”I'mma hug it an' squeeze it an' cuddle it an' call it Goltur!” Then he put her down just as quickly as he had picked her up and Zosh dashed in behind Graznikh, still giggling hysterically.  
”Hey little guy,” Praktash said to Mikbork as he squatted before him. ”You want a hug too?”  
Mikbork's only reply was a high-pitched roar.   
Graznikh rubbed his forehead. ”Did ya have too much to drink again, buddy?”  
”Nar, not that much,” Praktash replied as he stood. ”So what is it ya wanted my help with?”  
Graznikh explained the situation. ”So, think you could nudge her in the right direction?”  
”I could,” Praktash said. ”Or you could suck it in, apologise properly an' do it yourself.”  
”It's a little late for that now,” Graznikh muttered.  
”Fine, I'll do it. I just wish your tongue didn't live its own life whever she's near.”  
”Your tongue lives its own life too at times, buddy,” Graznikh leered.  
  
It took some convincing, but Záhovar eventually gave in. Mikbork and Zosh decided to lie low until the High Officer was ready to leave and had hidden in one of the store rooms near the entrance.  
”Ya sure 'bout this, Zosh?” Mikbork whispered. ”We're gon' travel in the middle of a bloody uzhâk, an' ya know what Uruks're like!”  
”He didn't seem all 'at bad to me,” Zosh giggled. ”Looked creepy though. He her opa-snaga?”  
Mikbork shrugged. ”Dunno, didn't ask. Not sure I wanna know.”  
”Aww! Guess I gotta ask 'im meself.” She snickered as Mikbork punched her arm.  
”Don'tcha start with 'at! We're snaga, we got no right to meddle!”  
”I'm not meddlin'!” Zosh protested. ”Just curious, 's all. Can't see how anyone could like a face like 'at.” She leaned her forehead against his with a teasing grin. ”Dun' worry Micky, I'll protect ya from the big, bad Uruki!”  
”This here's a bad, _bad_ idea,” Mikbork groaned.  
”The fuck're ya doing up here?” Mikbork and Zosh both looked up with a squeak.  
”Kughurz!”  
The big Orc leered at them. ”Didn't I teach ya the price fer uppity acts, eh?”  
”I'm not stayin' here no more,” Zosh growled. ”Go find a new plashnak!”  
Kughurz chuckled. ”What, ya think yer snuffler mate could give ya a better life than what ya got here? Hope ya like the pits then, 'cause that's where you'll end up!”  
”Fuck the pits!” Zosh snarled and pushed Mikbork away as he tried to make her shut up. ”I got a better spot now than you'll ever see, ya big rotspunk!”  
”'S 'at so? An' what makes ya think I'd ever let ya go? Get back to yer hole, opa-snaga, afore my generosity runs out.”  
Now Mikbork stepped in between Zosh and their tormentor with an evil grin. ”Might wanna turn around,” he told Kughurz.  
”What kinda stupid d'ya take me fer?” Kughurz growled. Something tapped his waist and he let out an exasperated sigh as he turned around. ”Not more fuckin' stupid little sna... ga?”  
Kughurz fell silent with a confused frown as he stared into someone's chestguard. He slowly lifted his head to meet the burning red gaze of the biggest fucking guy he had ever seen who was not an Uruk. Kughurz did not consider himself particarly short and he had the broadest shoulders in all of the southern strongholds, but this guy was towering over him. Not only that; he stood straight without even the slightest hunch in his back and he had white skin. _What kinda proper Orc has_ white _skin?!_   
Graznikh waited patiently with a lazy little smile as the Orc that had bothered his snuffler tried to figure him out. From the moment he had spotted him barging into the cavern where the snaga had hid he had decided that he disliked this one and there was no way he was going to let him get out of this alive. But he was also in the mood to play, and some guys could be very slow.  
”Got a problem?” Kughurz asked.  
”Me? Nar,” Graznikh replied and noticed Mikbork's face fall. ”I'd say things're just the way they should be. What about you?”  
”Nar,” Kughurz said with an insecure grin. ”We're good then, yeah?” He tried to leave but Graznikh stood in his way. He shot him an apologetic grin and tried to walk around him, but he blocked him once again. Now both goblins were grinning like idiots behind Kughurz's back.  
Kughurz began to feel a little annoyed. ”Whaddya want?”  
”Suck my cock.” Graznikh did not mean it as a serious command; he just wanted to piss this annoying bastard off as much as possible. Now he couldn't help but chuckle a little as Kughurz sank to his knees with a defeated grumble and reached for Graznikh's loincloth. Graznikh swatted his hands away and kneed him hard in the face.  
”Oops,” he murmured with a grin as Kughurz writhed on the floor. ”Sorry 'bout that; old war wound. Got a bit of a twitch in that leg.” Mikbork had to cover Zosh's mouth with his hand to keep her from exploding with laughter, though he was not far from doing so himself.  
”What the fuck's wrong with ya?!” Kughurz snarled as he got up, clutching his broken nose. ”Thought ya wanted a suck!”  
”Well, I didn't tell ya to touch my fucking loincloth now did I?” Graznikh growled back. ”Learn to use your ears.”  
”What?! How the fuck'm I gonna give ya a suck without-”  
”That's your bloody problem, not mine.”  
Kughurz eyed the insane stranger supiciously. ”You start a fight in 'ere, ye're gonna bring the whole stronghold down on yer head! I'm pals with the chief!”  
”Sure you are,” Graznikh drawled. ”And your 'chief' is busy lickin' my master's boots as we speak. These snaga belong to me now. Got a problem with that?”  
Kughurz felt for his knife, but hesitated. ”Whu... What master?”  
”Top One,” Graznikh said quietly. ”There's a full Uruk uzhâk waiting outside.”  
Kughurz stared at him for a moment before pointing at Zosh. ”Well, whaddya waitin' fer? She's right there; fertile, perfect breedin' stock! All warmed up fer the pits!” He leered at Mikbork. ”How d'ya like that, eh? Yer mate's goin' ta the pits now, sure as fucking nightfall!”  
The snaga snarled at him, but looked a lot less secure now. Mikbork gave Graznikh a suspicious, questioning look which Graznikh answered with a wink.  
”Actually, she's not,” he said and relished Kughurz's confused look. ”My master took a shine to her, so she's goin' up.”  
”Does... Does that mean you'll lemme go?”  
”Hm? Nar. You're still guilty of hiding a snaga that belonged to the Eye. Not gonna escape from that one just 'cause the snaga happened to end up someplace else.”  
  
Kughurz sprung forward and slashed the air where Graznikh had been standing. There was a very brief moment where his eyes widened in surprise before Graznikh's claws caught his hand, pulling his arm straight and locking it. Then his fist slammed into the back of Kughurz's elbow with a crunching sound. The air left his lungs with a whistling sound.  
Suddenly Mikbork appeared, knife in hand, and slashed at his unprotected lower belly. Graznikh caught Kughurz's guts before they had even hit the ground, wrapped them twice around his neck and pulled them tight. Kughurz quickly went into shock, twitching and gurgling and clawing at his blocked throat. Graznikh let go once he had stopped moving.  
”Bloody mess,” he grunted, and looked up when Mikbork did not reply.   
Zosh walked up to the body of her long-time jailor, looking beside herself with shock, and fell to her knees beside it. Graznikh shot Mikbork a glance. _If their bond's anything like what i had with Whin, he'll know all he needs 'bout what she's thinking right now._ Strangely enough, the snuffler was grinning.  
”Cover yer ears,” he said and followed his own advice.  
”What-” Graznikh began, but was interrupted by the most earsplitting squeal he had ever suffered. Zosh shot up into the air, squealing and laughing like crazy and started bounding around the storeroom, vaulting over crates and swinging in ropes along the walls. She ended her victory round by leaping into the air and landing on Kughurz's chest, breaking his ribcage with a crunching sound.  
”I'm _free,_ ” she squealed. ”I'm finally free of that fuckin' _bastard!_ ” Graznikh was too busy rubbing his aching, ringing ears to notice as she pounced him from behind and he toppled over into a pile of mouldy old furs.  
”Ol' jerk had it long coming,” Mikbork snarled and kicked the dead Orc's face. Then he yanked his dick out and peed on his mangled face, humming contentedly and grinning at Zosh as she laughed at him.  
”My ears'll never be the same,” Graznikh groaned as he spat out a mouthful of dusty, greenish-grey hair.  
”I did warn ya,” Mikbork pointed out.  
”I could scream again,” Zosh offered. ”Maybe if I do it loud enough it'll reverse an' yer ears'll get back to normal.”  
”Nar!” Graznikh squeaked. ”Nar; I'm fine like this, perfectly fine!”  
”See? It worked,” Zosh snickered.   
  
Praktash picked that moment to waltz in. He stopped in the doorway, eyeing the scene with round eyes; the floor was spattered by black blood and covered with broken crates, Mikbork had just finished peeing on a sliced-open corpse that had been strangled by its own guts and Graznikh lay arse-up in a pile of furs with Zosh straddling him and tying little bows into his hair with leather string. ”Err... buddy? You okay?”  
”What the fuck've I set lose?” Graznikh gasped. ”That scale beast got nothing on this nightmare!” He winced in pain as Zosh yanked his head up by the hair to show Mikbork what she had done.  
”There; inn'e cute? _Micky,_ you're not lookin'!”  
Mikbork got something haunted in his eyes as he glanced at Praktash.   
”Micky,” Praktash breathed and his eyes grew even wider. He slowly sank to the ground with an euphoric smile. ”Micky... _Micky..!_ ”  
”Záhovar,” Graznikh whimpered. ”Help!”

  
When Záhovar was ready to leave, Praktash had recovered enough to walk on his own.   
”You hafta boil an' drink a tea from these once every night,” he explained as he handed Zosh a pouch of strongsmelling herbs. ”It'll hold your season off, but it won't work unless you take it regularly. First thing in the evenin' or last in the mornin's good. Come to me when you run out an' I'll give ya more.”  
”Right,” Zosh said and sniffed the bag. ”Do they hafta smell like that?”  
”Yeah, it's the only way to make them fittingly disgustin',” Praktash replied with a grin and Zosh snickered. Then he grew serious. ”Make _sure_ you take 'em every night. You really don't wanna go into heat in this group.”  
”I know already,” Zosh replied grimly. ”Ev'ry girl who happened to be in season when the Uruks came to take us away got banged 'til she couldn't breathe from it an' bled from both ends. I've seen what happens.”  
Praktash shuddered. ”yeah, I... Didn't need that kinda details.”  
”But now you have 'em!” Zosh chirped. ”Enjoy.”  
”Zosh, for fuck's sake!” Mikbork exclaimed. ”Don't talk back to the Uruks, that shit's gonna get ya killed!”  
Zosh was about to reply but fell silent with her mouth wide open as Záhovar came into view. The High Officer walked towards the entrance at a leisurely pace, followed by the chieftain who was scraping and nodding like a true lickspittle.  
”Should you spot or catch any spies trying to enter through your territory, they are yours to do with as you please,” she told him. ”But send a message to the trade stop; the inkeep there, a Man named Angrenoc, will see to it that it reaches the ears of Lugburz. In return, I shall have a supply of quality weapons and armour sent to you, that you may better serve us. And food, of course. The sharpest sword is of little use if the arm is too weak to wield it.”  
”O' course,” the chieftain said with a submissive grin. ”Don'tcha worry Top One, I'll see to it that it gets done.” Then she looked straight at Praktash and beckoned for him to come. The chief frowned in confusion; no doubt he recognised Mikbork and knew that he had had dealings with some of his tribe members. Then his eyes widened as he spotted Zosh.  
”Your generosity pleases me,” Záhovar continued with a smirk. ”For that, I shall overlook the crimes that have been committed here. See to it that it does not happen again. Do send word to me should you encounter any more... 'elements' such as this.” With that, she spun and left the trepid chieftain behind.  
”C'mon,” Praktash said and walked to catch up with her. ”Hey, master!”  
Záhovar turned to him with a regal expression and waited until he had reached her side. ”Yes, Lug-snaga?”  
”You up for some introductions?” He put a hand on Zosh's back and pushed her forward from where she had been hiding behind him. Mikbork hovered nearby with a concerned look on his face.  
”This here's Zosh, she's the snaga I told ya about earlier. Zosh, meet High Officer Záhovar.”  
Zosh wore an expression of unadulterated fear as she looked up at the High Officer and amazingly, she even kept quiet. Záhovar looked back for a long while, her blue eyes glowing like moonlight through ice in the darkness. Eventually she spoke and made Zosh jump a little.  
”Your first task is this; stay close to Graznikh or Praktash at all times. They will instruct you in what you need to know to serve me properly. Praktash; see to it that the others keep their hands off her. Break limbs if need be, and tell Graznikh to do the same.”  
”Will do,” Praktash said, earning a nod of approval as Záhovar strode off. He turned to Zosh, who was still staring after her. ”That went well!”  
”It did?” Zosh asked and frowned at Mikbork as he nodded.  
”Yeah, she didn't hiss at us,” Praktash replied with a grin.  
”She always like that?”  
”Nar, she's just kinda busy in her head right now. Don'tcha worry, she'll lighten up once we're back on the road.”

  
Soon they were off again. Graznikh decided to do some more damage repair and forced himself to spend time with Sulmurz, Kraash and Ghakû. They kept chatting about this and that as they traversed the difficult terrain on the way back to the road.   
Graznikh saw Sulmurz stumble a little as he jumped down from a rock. He quickly regained his footing and acted as if nothing had happened, but after a while he stumbled again, and again. When Záhovar eventually ordered a breather, he looked relieved and left to take a piss.  
”Got a chafe?” Graznikh asked him quietly as he stopped beside him to do the same. Sulmurz jumped and gave him a suspicious glance, then shook his head.  
”I'm fine.”  
”That stumble says you're not.”  
”I'm _fine._ ”  
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. ”Really?”  
”I can fix my own problems.”  
”It won't go away 'cause you're ignoring it, ya know,” Graznikh told him as he tucked his dick back into his loincloth. It took a little longer for Sulmurz to relace his leather breeches. Longer than usual, Graznikh realised as he caught the pained wince Sulmurz made as he pulled them tight. Before he could call him out on it, Praktash appeared.  
”There you are,” the Uruk healer said cheerfully. As he wrapped an arm around Graznikh's neck, he gave Sulmurz a predatory leer and playbit the air towards him. Sulmurz gave him a glare of pure hatred in return, but he reeked of fear. Graznikh could hear Praktash sniff and knew that his buddy revelled in that scent; for all his recent docility, Praktash was still a guy with a thing for unwilling partners and Sulmurz was as unwilling as could be. Graznikh was fairly sure that Praktash wouldn't try anything for real; Záhovar may not have marked Sulmurz but it was quite obvious that she was grooming him for some sport of her own. Graznikh didn't think his buddy would dare to cross her. But there was that; what if Záhovar gave him permission? What if that was why Praktash was acting so differently towards her all of a sudden?  
He heard Sulmurz stumble again and wasn't sure if it was because of his mysterious condition or because of something Praktash had done.  
”Maybe you should go a little easy on him,” he murmured to Praktash. ”You'll have him running for the hills soon if ya keep this up.”  
”Oh, don't worry,” Praktash replied in a neutral, conversational tone. ”He wouldn't get that far. I'm the faster runner.” He threw Sulmurz another 'come-hither' leer. ”There's only one safe place for him, an' he knows it.”  
”Oh? Where'd that be?”  
Praktash grinned. ”Right up Záhovar's skirt.”  
Sulmurz lost his footing completely this time and hit the ground with a groan. Graznikh unwrapped Praktash's arm and squatted beside him.  
”Now I know something's not right.”  
”Need a hand?” Praktash asked cheerfully, but Sulmurz swiped his claws towards his outstretched hand.  
”Don't fuckin' touch me!” he snarled.  
”Fine,” Praktash said with a shrug. ”I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I'll be in camp if ya need me. In _any_ way.” He licked the corner of his mouth seductively before leaving.   
Sulmurz shuddered as he watched the Uruk leave. ”I don't get how ya can stand bein' near that one.”  
”But I can,” Graznikh grinned. ”So what's up with you? That's more'n a chafe there, isn't it?”  
Sulmurz scowled. ”My dick's killin' me. Got a rash that feels like it's turnin' into the fuckin' Burning Mountain in my breeches. Oh, shut up!” he growled as Graznikh began to laugh. ”It's not funny!”  
”So why didn'tcha see the healer about it?” The answer was obvious, but Graznikh couldn't resist.  
”Well fuck _you,_ ” Sulmurz snarled. ”He'd just spew some crap about 'thorough examination' and start chuckin' things up my-”  
”There's only one thing he wants to chuck up your arse,” Graznikh interrupted, ”and he'll make sure to keep that pointed in the opposite direction if that rash is as bad as ya say.”  
Sulmurz gave him a sceptical look. ”...Ya sure?”  
”Yup,” Graznikh replied. ”He's not a drugdealer for nothing. He won't touch ya with a ten foot pole before ya got that thing under control, in case it's contagious.”  
Sulmurz was not convinced. ”But then he'd want to do check-ups'n shit, make sure it heals properly an' all that.”  
”C'mon, what choice d'ya have?” Graznikh growled. ”What if Záhovar commands ya to drop your breeches an' do her hard tonight? Whaddya think she'll do when she spots _that_ between yer legs, eh?” Sulmurz's face turned from provoked to panicked in an eyeblink.   
”He's right, ya know,” Graznikh said as he stood. ”She's the only shield you've got. He's been downright restrained so far, an' the moment she loses interest it'll be open season on your arse. If that happens, beg the Eye it's just you and him and not the entire uzhâk. So quit bein' a snaga about this. I'm serious.”

  
That morning as they made camp, Sulmurz walked the toughest distance he ever walked and not only because every step hurt. Praktash was having a rather heated discussion about something that involved the pronounciation of some Black Speech word with Golnauk. As Sulmurz approached they fell silent, as did all others. Not even Kraash was unaware of the tension and now Sulmurz felt like a sheep with a flesh wound walking into a hungry wolf pack.  
Praktash gave him a patient smile and a look of faint interest. ”Can I help ya?” He made a face when Sulmurz muttered his business from a safe distance. ”Sorry, can't hear ya.”  
”Ineedhealing,” Sulmurz blurted out.  
”Look, you hafta speak up or come closer, or I won't hear ya,” Praktash said. ”Y'see, 'Zat roared kinda loud earlier when he drove that huge batterin' ram of his up my arse, so I've a bit of a hearin' problem at the moment.”  
There was a loud tittering from Zosh and Sulmurz gritted his teeth as the Uruks snickered. Ghrazagh let out an amused snort as he watched him inch closer to Praktash's angelic-looking face without breaking eyecontact. Lîrnash was already guffawing and Margzat was challenged to keep his face straight.  
”Stop looking at me like that,” Sulmurz growled.  
Praktash looked genuinely confused. ”How am I lookin' at ya?”  
”Like that! Like you're gonna bite me or something!”  
”I don't bite,” came the husky reply. ”...Much.”  
Sulmurz almost goblined out then and there, but the crawling pain in his crotch told him that he would not be able to keep up with the group for much longer. He could also feel Graznikh's eyes bore into his neck, telling him that it was now or never. He broke eye-contact with Praktash to gather some courage before stepping into the trap. Amazingly, Praktash didn't lift a finger to grope him and let him move in close to his ear unmolested. Sulmurz was still tense like a bowstring, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of impending doom as he stuttered his business into the Uruk's heavily pierced ear.  
”I-I got... I've... need a... some hel-... I just – WILL YA FUCKIN' STOP DOING THAT??!!!” he roared as Praktash kept breathing heavily against his neck.  
”Well, thanks a fuckin' lot,” Praktash muttered as he rubbed his ear. ”That sure helped with my hearin' problem!”  
As the camp erupted with laughter, Sulmurz had enough.  
”Fine,” he snarled. ”Be like that! Some healer you are, downright fuckin' helpful!”  
”Silence,” Záhovar said absently in a conversational tone of voice. The camp fell silent in a matter of eyeblinks; those Uruks who hadn't heard the command got a punch by their fellows and even Kraash managed to choke down his insane cackling. Sulmurz gave her a suspicious and disbelieving look.  
”Praktash, you have one job,” she continued without looking up. ”You are not of much use if you do not do it.”  
Praktash stared at her for a brief moment. Then he stood, casually slapping the dust off his hands as he did so. Sulmurz twitched as he prodded his shoulder with a clawless finger. ”C'mon, let's take it somewhere private.”  
”I'm not going anywhere with _you!_ ” Sulmurz snarled.   
Praktash glared at him with eyes almost as cold as Záhovar's. ”If you were so bloody desperate as to come to me in the first place, whatever ya got must be serious. You want it fixed or not? The last healer of any skill I saw was back at the temple. But do turn back. I'm sure you'll catch up with us before the boat leaves Ruzh Moraut.” With that, he grabbed his healer's bag and walked off. Sulmurz growled after him. As Graznikh nodded for him to go, he followed at a safe distance.  
  
Outside camp, Praktash dropped his healer's bag and threw himself down on a patch of struggling grass.  
”Cozy,” he commented with a leer. ”Now all we need're a few strawbags to cushion things a little.” Sulmurz's only reply was an indignant snort and he remained standing as Praktash patted the ground beside him in the mockery of an inviting gesture.  
”So you've got an itch,” Praktash continued. ”Where?” He chuckled as Sulmurz pointed downwards. ”What, your foot? Knee? Belly? Use words for fuck's sake!”  
”That! There! Okay?!” Sulmurz growled and pointed at his crotch.  
”Oh,” Praktash said, but then he fell silent as if waiting for something. Sulmurz thought he would go insane if he had to look at that idiotic smile for much longer.>  
”What?!”  
”What 'what'?”  
”Are you a fuckin' drugdealer or not? Just gimme something already!”  
How Praktash managed to pounce him from a sitting position, Sulmurz would never understand. His legs disappeared from underneath him and the next moment he was pinned to the ground face first by the Uruk's weight.  
”Did you just fuckin' question my authority?” Praktash growled. ”You want me to give ya somethin'? Maybe I should give ya a good hard fuck, maybe that'd make ya come down a notch or two!”  
Sulmurz winced in pain as Praktash's hard thrust ground his sore cock against the rough grass. But the Uruk didn't rape him as expected. He only gave him a disdainful snort and got back up.  
”Skai, you're so pitiful I don't even wanna fuck you. I don't get what Graznikh sees in ya, or Záhovar for that matter.” He watched Sulmurz scramble to his feet, wincing and groaning. ”So you've got a sore cock an' want me to do somethin' about it? Then here's how it goes; I'm not gonna give ya shit before I've had a look. If I mix up the wrong thing it might just make your problem worse, and that'd be bad for my reputation. Nar, I don't give a shit about it if your cock falls off,” he snarled as Sulmurz opened his mouth to protest. ”The only one who'll be upset is _her,_ an' she'll be pissed at you for not seein' me sooner. So, breeches down to your knees, little snaga, or you'll have to find yourself another healer to patch up your wanker!”  
Sulmurz opened his mouth to reply in kind, but decided against it and slowly started tugging at his laces with a defeated grumble. Praktash squatted before him with a mockingly patient expression. When Sulmurz reluctantly dropped his pants and revealed their content, Praktash threw one glance at his cock and winced. He even looked quite put off by the sight.  
”Ouch.”  
”A bit,” Sulmurz admitted. ”So..?”  
”Well... I _can_ fix it.”  
”Don't tell me you're gonna chop it off,” he whimpered.  
Praktash chuckled. ”What, why'd I do that for? Nar, it hasn't gone rotten... yet.” He relished Sulmurz's terrified little squeak with a wicked leer. ”I'll whip up some salve that'll help. But here's the most important thing; you need to _wash._ An' ya need to stop wearin' those tight leather breeches.”  
”What?! Why?”  
”'Cause that's what gave ya this in the first place! Leather traps all the sweat an' farts in there, an' you refusin' to wipe off now an' then only made things worse. You have to clean, you have to do it daily, you have to do it right! No salve in the world'll save your cock if you don't do that. I'll give ya some soap to use; only apply the salve _after_ you're clean an' fresh. It'll hurt, but that's how it is. If you do that, this'll be gone within the week.”  
Sulmurz swallowed. ”But... I don't have a loincloth. I don't wanna _use_ a loincloth!”  
”Then ask Záhovar to conjure up a pair of those loose pants that the Southrons use,” Praktash said as he stood. ”They look breezy enough to do the trick. But no more leather, an' make sure to clean your crotch every day.”  
”But... My ol' pants are so soft and well walked-in, so comfy, so-”  
”If you won't do this, I'll tell Záhovar all about your little problem.”  
”...Fine!”  
”Who knows,” Praktash continued as if he had not heard him, ”she might even tell _me_ to wash ya if you won't do it yourself. I wouldn't be gentle o' course...”  
”Alright, alright, I'll do it!”  
”...Might hafta tie ya up first. I wonder if she brought those leather cuffs with chains on 'em? I think they'd fit ya just right. Might need some other toys too...”  
”I told ya, I'll stay clean! Come _onnn!!_ ”  
”...Maybe I should clean ya on the inside too? Soap's kinda slippery, might work as lube-”  
”SHUT UP!!!”  
”What?! I'm just imaginin' a little! Appointment's over, now scram!”  
  
  
Once Praktash and Sulmurz were out of view, Graznikh got up and went for a walk after telling Akûl to keep an eye on the snuffler and his mate. He had barely felt the strange influence on his mind for a few hours and hoped that he would be able to say a few words to Záhovar without screwing things up. She had also abandoned camp to find some solitude; he found her standing on a pile of boulders looking out over the desolate landscape. He climbed the boulders while making sure he made enough noise that she would not be surprised by his approach and stopped beside her.  
”I'm sorry.”  
Záhovar snorted without looking at him. ”Is that all?”  
”Nar, but I doubt words'll solve this. I wouldn't know which ones to use anyway.” He gave her a longing look. ”I've never been good with words, âmbal.”  
Her eyes narrowed. ”When you first coined that nickname, I believed it to be in mockery. A way to belittle me.”  
Graznikh was baffled. ”I never meant it that way! You've always been my âmbal, long before we even met.”  
”And yet whenever we are together, you think of another.”  
Graznikh bristled. ”There _is_ no other! Well, there's Praktash, but I guess ya didn't mean him.”  
”Even now you lust after that Elf!”  
”I'm lustin' after _you,_ for fuck's sake!”  
Záhovar turned to face him with a hiss. ”I am _not_ that whimpering weakling!”  
”Oh, but you are,” Graznikh replied with a sneer. ”You're all o' her an' then some. An' what the fuck would ya have me do? Ask the Eye to wipe my head the way He did to you? I still remember the Orc I used to be before I met ya, even after all this time! An' trust me, that's not someone you'd want on your team. Skai, I was like Kraash, only a bit smarter! Havin' the bond, having _you_ made me better'n I coulda ever been on my own!”  
”I am not sure if the one I currently have is that much improved.”  
”An' what the fuck is that supposed to mean!?”  
”That you have become unreliable!”  
”Is this about that fuck back there? 'Cause I could finish what we started right now if ya wanna.”  
”How _dare_ you?!” Záhovar hissed. ”I am not your opash-snaga to use and discard as you please!”  
”And I'm not yours!!”  
The words left his mouth before he had even thought them. He ducked to avoid Záhovar's fist but she had anticipated it. Her steel-toed boot connected solidly with his guts and sent him crashing backwards. The red haze engulfed him like a wildfire and he berserked before he had even hit the ground. With a furious scream he rolled back onto his feet and charged her, but Záhovar avoided him like a shadow and he tumbled down the boulders and landed at the base of the pile.

Both Praktash and Sulmurz looked up as they heard Graznikh's furious roar.  
”Oh, fuck.” Their previous disagreement forgotten, both ran towards the sound and found that the rest of the group had already gathered there. The moment Praktash recognised the infernal gleam in his buddy's eyes and saw that Záhovar was unarmed, he started towards them with a cry only to be halted by Margzat.  
”Do not interfere!” Záhovar shouted while dropping backwards and rolling to get out of Graznikh's reach. Praktash opened his mouth to protest, but Margzat silenced him with his hand.  
”Do as she says, Bukrazikh,” he whispered. ”Don't go rogue in front o' the pack. I'm thinkin' she can hold her own. I'm also thinkin' this was long comin'. Just watch.”  
As he did so, Praktash discovered that Záhovar was not fighting back, not for real. She kept dodging or blocking the incoming blows and tripped Graznikh over and over, but she made no counterattacks. _She's wearin' him out,_ he thought. _She's waitin' for him to snap outta it on his own!_  
”Five tokens on the Top One,” Kraash said, only to have Golnauk grab the front of his leather shirt and roar him in the face. The sound distracted the berserking Graznikh enough for Záhovar to kick his feet out from under him.  
”Alright, alright, fine!” Kraash shouted back and Golnauk released him. ”Bloody Uruks dunno how to have fun,” he grumbled.  
”Ya won't find anyone stupid enough to take ya up on that bet anyway, lad,” Ghakû chuckled. ”Who'd bet against a Top One?”  
”Someone stupid,” Kraash leered. ”Like that one.” He nodded towards Graznikh. ”He's gone rogue for real now, huh?”  
”Graznikh's not rogue!” Praktash shouted through Margzat's hand before the krîtar removed it. ”Can't ya see they're just sparrin'? This was set up!”  
”Sure,” Kraash drawled. ”An' I've fucked the Eye. _In_ the eye” He nodded towards Graznikh with a bloodthirsty leer. ”'S gonna be fun watchin' him explain why he killed his own master. Or tried to. Not gonna let him off the hook as easy as you, Cockless or whatever they call ya.”  
Praktash tried to growl back but Margzat's arms tensed up so hard around him that he had trouble breathing. Kraash backed off as the krîtar growled in turn, but still wore an expression of open insubordination. Ghakû said nothing; he only watched the 'sparring' with a calculating, thoughtful look.  
Sulmurz suddenly moved forward from his place at the back. He grabbed Kraash by the throat from behind, toppled him backwards and smashed his knee into the other Orc's unprotected waist. Kraash howled in pain.  
”None o' that,” Sulmurz growled as he let him fall, holding onto his hair. ”No one'll kill anyone here but on the High Officer's order, 's 'at clear?”  
”But he's gone rogue,” Kraash wheezed only to howl again as Sulmurz's fist found his kidneys from the other side.  
”He's Lug-snaga, his goin' rogue or not's the Officer's business, not yours! You don't fuckin' meddle, unless ya want some o' this,” he held his coiled whip up in front of Kraash's contorted face. ”Now; 's 'at clear?!”  
”Fine,” Kraash snarled. ”Ya cunt-whipped lickspittle.”  
”If that's what he is, then he's doin' somethin' right,” Praktash commented. Sulmurz's only reply was a shrug before he kicked Kraash down to the ground and uncoiled the whip.  
”Now then... _This_ is for insulting the Eye. _This_ is for trying to meddle in a High Officer's business. _This_ is for talkin' back. And _this_ is for being such a bloody idiot!”  
Several hard lashes later, Sulmurz squatted beside the shaking Kraash.  
”Now here's another lesson for ya,” he said amiably. ”When a High Officer tells ya to jump, the only question ya ask is 'how high'. Now're we done here?” Kraash nodded with a defeated whimper. ”Good!”

Meanwhile, Graznikh's berserking rage had finally been ground down to nothing. As he crashed to the ground one last time, he made no move to get back up but lay still, panting heavily. As the red haze faded, the wind returned to clear his head.  
”Silence!” Záhovar called and the uzhâk immediately fell quiet. She knelt beside Graznikh and placed a hand on his shoulder. He weakly reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand down and pressed it to his face with a dry sob.  
”I'm sorry,” he whispered. Záhovar hushed him and placed a few warm fingertips under his chin, making him meet her eyes. Graznikh felt completely broken as he looked into those beautiful, catlike eyes that searched his own and clung desperately to her as she reached out to him through the bond. Whatever she found made it pulse with dread and Graznikh wanted nothing more than to hold her, comfort her and protect her from everything that would hurt or scare her. But he could not. _He_ was the one who had hurt and scared her.  
”What's wrong?” Praktash whispered as he too knelt beside them. The others kept their distance. ”Can ya feel anything?”  
Záhovar shook her head, her face a study in shock and disbelief. ”You were right. He _is_ under compulsion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weee, new character! Mikbork and Zosh may be the most normal couple in this entire series...


	19. Thaurband

Lord Dâurinzil was once again absent when Záhovar's following reached Ruzh Moraut. Not caring to wait for him, she decided to take the next ship on to Thaurband. Despite the existence of ghâshpau she breathed a sigh of relief once her feet were back on solid ground. Margzat and the uzhâk left for the Uruk garrison while the Orcs went to the regular one after Graznikh had dropped Akûl off at the warg pens. She herself took up her usual room in the inn near the harbour. After a passable dinner and some sleep that for once was not interrupted by nightmares, Záhovar felt decidely better than before. She spent much of the following night in solitude, simply revelling in the fact that she no longer had to sleep on the hard ground and could enjoy the little luxuries she had grown used to in Lugburz. But she dearly needed a bath; despite Sulmurz's attentions, her hair was greasy and unkempt and her skin was ingrained with sweat and dust from the road. She knew that there was a bath-house nearby; the innkeep had told her so the first time she stayed in his establishment. Záhovar smiled a little as she thought it over. Perhaps there was a way to both get clean and rid herself of the last bit of tension..?

Praktash threw himself down on a strawbag the moment he and Margzat entered the krîtar's quarters. ”Finally! Home, sweet home.”  
”Missed the comforts, have ya?”  
”Uh-huh,” Praktash replied with a yawn. ”Skai, I can barely keep my eyes open!” He arched an eyebrow at Margzat as the giant Uruk pulled three strawbags together and made himself comfortable far too out of reach for Praktash's taste. ”The fuck're you doin' over there?”  
Margzat gave him a lazy grin as he lifted a fist and beckoned for him to come closer. Praktash stifled another yawn and grumbled a bit as he obeyed. When he made a move to lie down beside him, Margzat kicked his legs away and he fell face-first onto the krîtar's muscular chest.  
”Will ya quit bein' so bloody cute with me?!” Praktash started, but Margzat interrupted him with a bear hug and buried his face in his hair. Praktash couldn't help but return his happy purr. _This is too good to be true..!_ The krîtar held him fast with one arm and began to run his claws slowly up and down his back. The resulting sensatuion, somewhere between scratching and tickling, was oh so very relaxing. It was all he could do to lean his head against Margzat's shoulder and simply enjoy. Within moments, he was asleep.  
  
After a long day's sleep, the Orcs left the garrison behind and instead took up a table at the inn where Záhovar stayed. The presence of a Lug-snaga got them in pretty much everywhere so long as Graznikh spoke for them, and now they were enjoying beverages and snacks which were hard to come by outside the buzzing trade hub that was Thaurband.  
”This,” Graznikh murmured and pointed at the overspiced meat pie in his hand, ”is the moment I've been waiting for ever since I bloody left this place!”  
Sulmurz nodded enthusiastically. ”Wanna join in?” he asked while setting the board for a round of Orcs'n Tarks.  
”Nar, I'll just watch.” Graznikh shot a grin down under the table, where Mikbork and Zosh had retreated to avoid getting in the way of bigger folks. From the sounds of it, they were quarreling over their pie in hushed voices. He spotted and blocked a kick from Kraash that was no doubt aimed at them, and the sadistic Orc grunted in pain as Graznikh returned it with interest.   
Kraash had turned out to be made from Graznikh's nightmares ever since he first laid eyes on Zosh. Graznikh had lost count of how many times he and Sulmurz had been forced to beat him senseless after he had attempted to molest her. Ghakû had not lifted a finger to help them until Sulmurz threatened him with the whip. Not only that; the old Orc had been so insubordinate that Graznikh had to fight him one-on-one and threaten to throw him overboard if he did not cut it out. Even after that, the only thing that returned them to the fold was a direct order from Záhovar.   
Kraash won the first round, Sulmurz the second. Graznikh passed the next offer to join in too, claiming that he preferred to take things easy tonight. In reality he felt frustrated and horny, a feeling he had not experienced in quite a while. Now he almost regretted not spending the night alone; that might have given him enough time to himself for a wank.

 

”Sulmurz.”   
Sulmurz looked up from his mug when his name was spoken. Záhovar stood at the base of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms and he left the table to stand at her side when she beckoned, ignoring Kraash's protests. ”Can I help ya, master?”  
”You may.” She motioned for him to follow her and returned upstairs. He hurried forward to open the door to her room and then followed her inside. As she began to remove her armour Sulmurz almost believed for a moment that this was _it_. But she only replaced it with a thick, formal robe and pointed at a bundle of cloth and a bag. ”Pick that up.” When he obeyed, she beckoned for him to follow again. They left the tavern and went into the torchlit streets. Three streets up they entered some kind of establishment. Inside, Mannish folks went about in only unbleached linen loincloths and nothing else. Splashes and laughter could be heard from further in. _Is this some kind o' whorehouse?_   
Záhovar exchanged a few words with one of the staff and placed some tokens in his hand. After a short wait they were shown into a room with whitewashed walls, a clay-tiled floor and, most importantly, a large copper basin filled with steaming water and a small table. She instructed Sulmurz to put the bundle and the bag on the table, then she began to undress. Sulmurz's eyes slowly grew larger as she stripped, until he felt like his head would explode at any moment. Záhovar's body was nothing like an Orc's – not that he had really expected it to be – and not entirely like a Woman's either. Her back was so straight, like one of the tarks' swords, with slender arms and legs and a fairly short torso. Her skin was pale and completely even-coloured, without any patches of darker or lighter skin anywhere. Every part of it except her hands, feet and head was covered in tiny tattoos that formed an intertwining pattern reminiscent of twisted brambles. The more Sulmurz looked, the more they seemed to move and writhe across her skin. He started feeling a little sick from it so he focused on something else.   
  
”Undress.” Sulmurz was so busy staring at her rear that he did not hear the command at first. He jumped a little and looked up as Záhovar snapped her fingers right in front of his face.  
”Undress,” she repeated, and he could not obey fast enough. Bracers, greaves, belt and shirt hit the wall near the door in short succession, leaving dusty marks on the white lime. He struggled a bit with the lacing on his breeches, quietly cursing the fact that he was so lousy at tying proper knots. He casually kicked them away along with the boots once they were off and stretched a little, flaunting himself.  
Most Orcs were more or less round-shouldered and hunched and Sulmurz was no exception. Graznikh had a far straighter build and could stretch himself perfectly straight if he wanted to, but Sulmurz could not unless he forced it while lying down flat on his back, a position he found rather uncomfortable at the best of times. He was also shorter than Graznikh, who stood eye-level with the Officer they both lusted after. No matter how Sulmurz tried, he could not reach higher than eye-level with her chin. But she did not seem to mind. At least Sulmurz hoped that she did not. _He_ sure didn't.  
Záhovar's eyes roamed his scarred, muscular body, appraising and possibly admiring it. Sulmurz had to bite back a needy purr and his dick shamelessly bobbed a greeting, making her smirk a little. He sent the Uruk healer a bit of thanks for the salve that had made it heal up so fast and answered her arched eyebrow with a grin and an apologetic shrug.  
She walked over to the basin with graceful steps. As she stepped over the edge, she leaned forward and presented her round rump to his bulging eyes before sliding into the water with a pleased sigh. She sunk all the way beneath the surface briefly. Without looking at him she lifted a finger and beckoned for him to approach. ”Bring the bag.”  
  
Sulmurz was profoundly grateful that she could not see his trembling legs when he walked over to the table and fetched the bag before coming closer to her.   
”Open it and take out the soap; the white cube.” While Sulmurz obeyed and studied the peculiar-smelling cube, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. In front of him, Záhovar rose from the water and gave him a full frontal view before sitting down on the edge of the heavy basin. Sulmurz exhaled as if he had been kicked in the guts by a horse and the soap fell forgotten from his hand.   
”Pick it up,” Záhovar commanded with an annoyed little frown. When Sulmurz bent over to do so, he felt a soft but strong little hand squeeze his buttock. He jerked forward with a yelp, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. Záhovar made no move to acknowledge her deed or even notice his indignant frown. ”What are you waiting for?”  
 _Bitch,_ he thought as he picked the soap and himself up from the floor. _Since when the fuck do women like that part anyway?!_ When he tried to hand the soap to her, she made no move to take it.  
”Dip it in the water. Now rub some of it on your hands. Good. Now wash me.”   
Sulmurz couldn't believe his ears. _We're both naked. I'm right next to ya, horny as all fuck. An' you want me to_ wash _you?! ...Alright!_   
He placed the soap on the table after coating his hands with the, well, soapy substance. Záhovar took her long hair and rolled it up on her arms, giving him access to her back. Sulmurz's hands trembled as he reached for her.  
He had imagined what her skin would feel like so many times, and the real deal felt nothing like it. It was so soft and smooth. Almost too smooth. Even the markings felt like they were a part of her. Once, Graznikh had showed him a piece of silk and told him that it was a piece of a mattress cover that had accidentally gotten torn to pieces while he fucked Záhovar, and that her skin felt almost the same. Sulmurz had not believed him and said that if he ever got to fuck her in a bed full of that, he would die. But Graznikh had not lied. Covered with soap as her back now was, he was certain that if he tried to grab her for a fuck she'd just slip right out of his grip, claws or no. She let out little sighs of enjoyment as he rubbed and kneaded her. When her back was thoroughly soaped, she commanded him to continue with her legs. She swung them over the basin's edge and sat with her knees spread wide, ordering him to kneel between them. His eyes moved on their own as he worked, returning to the hidden Paradise between her thighs over and over, no matter how much he tried to focus. _Skai, my balls're gonna explode if I don't get a fuck soon!_  
  
He was done too soon. ”So... Now what?”  
”You are not finished,” Záhovar said and gestured towards the front of her body with a confident little smirk. Sulmurz swallowed hard and began to slide his trembling hands up along the inside of her thighs. Záhovar's eyes grew dangerous as he neared the center, but an exercise in willpower made them move up onto her hips without touching where he wanted to. He whimpered as he touched her abdomen.  
”No,” she said as Sulmurz began to get up. ”Stand behind me.”  
”But... How will I reach..?” he began, but fell silent when he noticed her hedonic little smile. _Oh, you utter, fucking little tease!_ He had to leer as he took some more soap on his hands, stepped up close behind and wrapped his arms around her. Now that he was finally permitted to touch all of her, he did so to his heart's delight. His hands roamed as he rubbed the soap into her skin, squeezing and grabbing the soft skin on her hips and belly, cupping and fondling her breasts with little purrs and grunts of pleasure. Záhovar sat with closed eyes and elevated calm as he pawed her, making no sign of discomfort or the opposite. _Does she feel this at all?_ He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them a little harder, inadvertently pinching one of her nipples with his claws as he did so. Záhovar let out an angry hiss and the light from the large candles dimmed; Sulmurz felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.  
”'M sorry,” he squeaked. Záhovar kept glaring at him until he was on his knees on the floor. ”'M sorry,” he repeated. ”Please don't kill me! Wh-... Wh-what should I do? 'S there anything I can do to make it better? Please, I don't-”  
”Clean it.”  
Sulmurz thought fast. He got to his feet and scurried over to dig his belt up from the pile of clothes and emptied one of his belt pockets. Among the various odds and ends he had picked up here and there was an embroidered cotton handkerchief that he had nabbed from the rebel leader while he interrogated him back in the Crags. He had kept it meticulously clean ever since for just this kind of occasion and washed it far more often than he washed himself. Now he nervously approached the High Officer, holding it up with a meek grin that begged for her approval. Záhovar gave the simple piece of cloth a critical glance and Sulmurz's heart sank, but then she nodded. Ever so gently he dabbed at her bleeding nipple, as well as the other little scratches he had left on her body. _How could she get so many of 'em? I wasn't even rough with her!_   
”I, err... guess ya don't want me to continue,” he said once he was done. Záhovar shook her head and slipped back into the water. Sulmurz felt both grateful and disappointed; grateful that she didn't allow him to screw up even worse, and disappointed because he really wanted to press that soft body against his own for just a little longer.  
”Fetch the bag.” As he did so, she took it and dug around in it for a bit before she pulled out a sturdy fiber brush. ”Get in the water.”  
Sulmurz thought he had heard things wrong at first, that he had misunderstood. When Záhovar noticed him not moving, she gave him a cold, steady look until he slipped into the water.  
”Dip yourself. Now kneel and turn around.” Sulmurz watched nervously from over his shoulder as she scrubbed some soap on the brush. He could feel her push his shaggy hair aside and gasped a little as she began to scrub his back with strong, steady hands. Soon he was purring deeply with a blissful grin as the brush gave him a thorough massage, scraping and scratching pleasantly. He could feel months, possibly years of dirt, dust, dried sweat and dead skin peel off him, leaving the skin raw and tingling. When she was done with his back she ordered him to turn around and did the same with his chest and abs. Then he was made to stand and the true torment began as she knelt before him and slowly scrubbed her way up his legs. _Don't look down,_ he told himself as he felt her hand on his inner thigh. _Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, just don't, don't, don't!_ Now she was scrubbing his butt and it _did_ feel rather nice, now that he knew that it was she who did it. Then a soapy hand cupped his balls and he _had_ to look down. As he did so, he had a perfect view of her where she was kneeling before him with slightly parted lips and before he knew it he had come a little, a jet of black spunk spattering her face. Sulmurz almost fainted.  
”Perhaps you should leave,” Záhovar said coolly as she washed her face. Sulmurz whimpered in reply and jumped out of the bath, heading for his clothes at a half-run. The moment he reached them, something slammed into him from behind and he spun and hit the wall hard, back first.   
”On second thought; perhaps not.” He caught a glimpse of blue eyes glowing with insane eagerness before he got distracted by a hand wrapping itself around his cock and starting to stroke it at a steady pace. ”Since you have been compliant despite your blatant failures, perhaps I should reciprocate in kind.” Sulmurz's head rolled back against the wall and he planted his feet wide not to fall over as she tugged his cock with one hand and used the other to play with his balls. _This isn't happening, she killed me an' I'm just imagining it all, this shit can't be fuckin' happening!!_ Within moments he came with a desperate roar and Záhovar let him go.  
  
Sulmurz leaned against the wall, gasping and shivering with his legs spread wide and his still hard cock cupped in his hands, staring at Záhovar's naked backside as she walked away while trying to process what had just happened. After washing the spunk off, she took one of the cloth sheets and began to dry herself.   
”D'ya, uhh... w-want me t' help ya with that?” he asked, voice trembling. She looked over her shoulder and nodded.  
”So... Think there'll be more o' that next time?” he asked hopefully as he patted her with the soft cloth. Záhovar spun towards him with a hiss and an unfelt, unheard wind seemed to sweep the room and made the candles flicker madly. Sulmurz chuckled nervously as he stepped back, his insides cold with fear. Not looking where he went, he inadvertently stepped on the discarded soap. It shot out from beneath his foot as if fired from a catapult as he slipped and fell backwards. His head hit the tiles with a crack and everything went black.

 

”Well, he's not dead,” Praktash said when he was done with the examination. ”His skull's not cracked either; thick-headed bastard. Probably just got a concussion. He'll wake up in a bit with the headache of the age, might puke a bit. Wouldn't be surprised if he loses his sight for a while too, that happens sometimes. But he'll come around.”  
”Right,” Margzat said and grabbed Sulmurz's legs. ”Let's get him back to the barracks.”  
”No,” Záhovar said with a thoughtful expression. ”Carry him to the tavern. No doubt he will need a drink when he wakes up.”  
”We've got booze in the barracks,” Praktash said. Then his eyes widened a little as Záhovar arched an eyebrow at him. He smiled. ”Oh... Right. Tavern it is then.”  
Margzat shot them both a confused look and shrugged. After dumping Sulmurz on the floor in Záhovar's room, Praktash handed her a pouch of painkilling herbs along with instructions on how to prepare them.  
”You two got a bond too?” Margzat asked as they walked back to the barracks.  
”Nar,” Praktash said with a grin, ”but we've got understandin' of a different sort. One lecher to another.”  
”I'll never figure these kinda things out,” the krîtar muttered and flinched as Praktash pinched his butt.  
  
The rest of the Orc band were still sitting in the tavern when Záhovar returned with the Uruks in tow. Graznikh and Kraash watched them carry Sulmurz upstairs with equally envious expressions, and Ghakû chuckled as he watched their longing gazes.  
”Tell you what, lads,” he said and waited until they focused back on him. ”You both look like you could use a fuck. One without strings attached. An' it just so happens that I know of a place where you can get that. Whaddya say?”  
”I'm game,” Kraash said immediately.  
”What kinda place are we talking 'bout here?” Graznikh asked.  
”Whorehouse, lad,” Ghakû replied with a lopsided grin. ”One that accommodates Orcs, not the fancy ones your master's no doubt been to.”  
Graznikh threw one last look at the stairs before he shrugged. ”Fine, I'll take a look.”  
”More'n a look, I'd wager,” Ghakû grinned as they left the tavern.  
”I've been to whorehouses before,” Graznikh told him as they made their way across the city. ”What's so different about this one?”  
”Well,” Ghakû began. ”You know how there'll always be slaves what aren't cut out for the regular snaga jobs. 'Round here, most of 'em work in the fields or with food preparation. But even here, there're those who can't handle it. Too old, too weak, too damaged. Or too pretty... On the other hand, with the breeding program there're many lads who hasn't even seen plashnak, and there're also those who want a switch up from the usual barrack rides. Since the Top Ones don't like wastin' resources, they figured out a way to solve both those problems in one go. The whorehouses are where tark slaves in Thaurband end up when they reach the end of the line. Of course there are fancier ones, but the one I'm takin' you to is one that, like I said, accommodates Orcs. With these whores, yer hands're free. They're already branded as 'expended', so it doesn't matter if ya kill 'em during or after the rut. Fuck them in whatever hole ya want, or make a new one if that's what ya fancy.”  
While he spoke, Kraash's grin grew and grew until it looked like his head would split in two.   
”Now, normally, access to this particular whorehouse is a Low One's privilege,” Ghakû continued. ”But you're Lug-snaga, so you can just saunter in. An' Low Ones can give this privilege as a reward to particularly obedient grunts, so...” He glanced at Graznikh with a telling smile.  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Fine, I'll make sure you get in too. Don't worry. But I'm not payin' for ya.”  
”No problem, they usually don't charge much. This isn't really a business, just a way of finishing off unwanted baggage in a fun way.”  
  
The 'end of the line' was a large brick building near one of the slave pens. It didn't look like much from the outside and was only recognisable by the rusty sign shaped like a dick going into a hole above the door.  
”Well, that's obvious,” Graznikh commented.  
”Has to be,” Ghakû snickered. ”Most folks here can't read. Some of 'em aren't too good at the thinking business either.”  
The inside was like no whorehouse Graznikh had ever been to. Just inside the door was a room with a counter near the back. Beyond it, separated by a door made of iron bars, was a larger room filled with people. The 'whores', men and women both, were naked and wore simple iron collars around their necks by which they were chained to the stone floor in rows, hands cuffed behind their backs so that they could not cover themselves. The 'customers' walked along the rows to examine them and take their pick. Muffled screams, moans and grunts could be heard from deeper inside and the scent of blood, rut, fear and death lay heavy upon the whole place; a blend equally repulsive and enticing.  
The man behind the counter was obviously a half-blood. In fact, the whole place seemed to be run by them. He gave the Orcs a bored look.  
”Ten tokens each for regular, twenty for the specials. Pay up and take your pick. There are empty rooms in the second corridor to the left.”  
”What're the specials?” Graznikh asked.  
”A fuck with a history. Don't bother asking whether it's authentic; I don't care to check the lineage of every slave that passes through here. There're also a few unspoilt slaves in there. A few Dwarves'n kids too, if you're that type. And can pay for it, of course.”  
”I'll have a look.”  
Ghakû and Kraash went for the regular and went into the large room as soon as the door was unlocked. The half-blood shouted something into a smaller room to the side and soon another one came out with a list. He led Graznikh through the main room and unlocked the door to a smaller room beyond. Graznikh entered it and sauntered along the lines, stopping to take a closer look at one or two of the slaves before moving on. There was one young man that he knew Praktash would have liked and a woman who reminded him a little of the first Dunlending whore he had fucked.  
At the end of the third line, he found his choice. She was a dainty little thing; clearly a grown woman but shorter even than Sulmurz and she tried to crouch to look even smaller. She had dark, curly hair that looked to have been hacked rather than cut off at the shoulders. Judging by her looks, she was about the same age as Whin had been when he had fucked her the first time, but Graznikh knew that tark looks could be deceiving. She could also be middle age. That didn't matter; he was fine with deception as long as he got a good, hard fuck out of her. Normally he wouldn't have picked a tark, but he liked the way she kept staring at his clawed feet with wide, frightened eyes. She also had the same air of having no clue what was about to happen as Whin had had. She was by no means a replacement, but a fitting temporary surrogate. And Ghakû had guessed it right; he badly needed a fuck with no strings attached.  
”This one's an Enemy,” the half-blood remarked. ”She was caught in a raid outside of Umbar, one of the Enemy ports down south. Could be nobility. I think the older one over there is her mother, in case you care. None of them have spoken a word since they arrived; I'm not sure if they understand a single word of Common. And... this is interesting; despite the journey, she seems to be untouched according to the examination report. I wonder why they put her down here; should've been in the upper district. Or held hostage for a sweet ransom, but that's not my place to say. Both came in this morning, so you'll be giving her a fresh start of her new life.”  
”I'll take her,” Graznikh said.  
”I'm sure you will,” the half-Man said laconically. ”Empty rooms in the second corridor to the left. And if she dies, just leave her. We'll take care of the remains. Have a good time!”  
The girl began to sob hysterically as Graznikh undid the chain. The woman nearby that the attendant had mentioned earlier began to shout and plead in what sounded like Adûnaic. The attendant absently kicked her hard as he passed. Graznikh ignored the increasingly desperate cries as he lifted the girl up on his shoulder and carried her out the door.

”Will ya look at that,” Ghakû chuckled as Graznikh came up to them with the terrified tark. ”That really _is_ a special one, isn't she?”  
”Got a thing for dark hair,” Graznikh murmured and nuzzled her ear, chuckling as she flinched and tried to pull away.  
”Five tokens says I finish first,” Kraash said as he shoved his victim in through a door.  
”How many kinds of stupid are you?” Graznikh asked with a grin. ”This isn't a bloody race to the finish line! An' look at this little lady; can't be quick with such a one, now can we? I'm gonna take my sweet time. Don't wait for me.”  
The 'room' was little more than a cell. There was a straw-filled mattress along the far wall and a bucket with somewhat clean water and a rag in a corner. Both mattress, floor and walls bore marks from nails and claws, spunk, blood and other body fluids. Graznikh doubted that they were ever cleaned; the attendants probably just poured a bucket or two of water on them to wash off the worst of the grime inbetween customers. There were no windows or other light sources save for a thin sliver of light from beneath the door; after all, Orcs saw perfectly fine in the dark and why waste resources on expended slaves? As the door slammed shut behind him, the room went dark and the tark girl squeaked as he threw her down on the mattress. He knew that she could not see in the dark. Her eyes darted back and forth between the only visible light; the sliver beneath the door and his glowing, red eyes. Graznikh savoured the look on her face as he stripped himself of both armour and clothing, making sure that she saw them fall and slowly blocked the last of the light out as he pushed them up against it.  
”Now then,” he purred as he squatted in front of her. ”I'm gonna give you a choice; either you drop the mute act and start talkin', or I'll fuck ya til you bleed and puke an' then slit ya open from your neck to your cunt. Are we clear on that?” He grinned as the fear permeating her scent peaked.   
”P-please... please!”  
”There we go,” he drawled. ”Just wanted to make sure you'd understand me. Not much point in talkin' if ya don't get it. Ya might've fooled the daft fucks out there with your little make-believe, but they're half Man so they can't be too bright, right?” He moved a little closer. ”Now, d'ya know where you are?” She shook her head. ”Ever been fucked before?”  
Her eyes widened a little and Graznikh chuckled. ”D'ya even know what 'fuck' means?” She began to tremble. He enjoyed the sight for a moment and sniffed the air, drinking in the scent of fear and woman. ”'S okay. You'll find out soon enough.”  
  
The whole situation brought back memories, but not of Whin this time. When his reputation had spread in Dunland, there had been a brief time when one of the whoremongers who had taught him what she knew had taken a shine to him and offered for him to 'break in' some of the new girls that ended up in her care. She had it figured that if they were fucked by an Orc first, they wouldn't complain so much about giving the Dunlending men whatever they wanted later. Whether that was true or not Graznikh did not know. But it had given him a lot of practice in the art of coaxing a fuck out of unwilling partners without tearing them apart. Whin had been his greatest achievement in that area, but now he found himself wanting to know whether or not he had lost his touch after all these years.  
His prey had balled up on the bed and tried to wriggle away as Graznikh pulled her up and straddled her. Her hands were not bound with ropes, but with iron cuffs that could be unclasped from each other with a special two-hand grip, ensuring that the prisoners would not be able to unlock them on their own. Now Graznikh undid them, pushed her arms up above her head and fastened the cuffs to the iron rings on the wall.  
”Don't touch me! Stop!”  
”Don't be a fool,” he breathed into her ear as she continued to struggle underneath him. ”You can't escape from this anyway. Your life's gonna end in one of these cells, once you've been fucked so many times that your body can't take it anymore.” He chuckled as she began to wail loudly. ”Oh, c'mon! There are worse ways to go than by fuckin'. And who knows; in time, ya might find that you like Orc-cock.”  
He rose to his knees and grabbed her legs. She had locked them together, but Graznikh wasn't interested in her cunt just yet. He pulled her down until her bound arms were stretched tight above her head, then he locked her hips between his knees. Even so, she could still wriggle a bit with her upper body as he ran his fingertips over her little breasts over and over. Eventually he grew tired of it, grabbed her breasts and pushed her down on the mattress, toying with her nipples. The slapping of flesh against flesh could be heard from the surrounding rooms, along with the sounds of pain and pleasure.  
”Whaddya think's happening in there?” he whispered as he nudged her nipples with calloused thumbs. ”That coulda been you, y'know. Think you'd like getting fucked like that?”  
The girl shook her head, crying silently.   
”Good thing it's not gonna happen then. Well, not tonight. Not in the next few moments, anyway.” He caught one of her now taut nipples between two claws. ”Y'know, you'd look real nice with rings in your tits. Just poke a hole through your nipples like this an' push 'em through.” The girl gasped and began to whimper as he slowly pinched harder. He let go and slashed the skin between her breasts with a claw, drawing blood and a shriek. Then he leaned down and licked it, savouring the sweet tang of tark blood.

For a brief moment, her legs relaxed. It was all he needed to shove a knee inbetween them and force them open. She began to scream and thrash with renewed strength; Graznikh watched her with amusement as he slid down and prodded her cunt with the tip of his cock, smearing her with precum but without going any further. He began teasing her nipples again while spreading his legs wide so that hers were forced up around his waist.  
”D'ya really think I couldn't just shove it in if I wanted to?” he murmured into her ear. ”You could be screamin' just as loud as the others in here, but you're not. That should tell ya somethin', hmm?”  
”Please,” she sobbed. ”I do not want to, I do not want this..!”  
”Well, what you want doesn't really matter here,” he purred as he slid a hand up around her throat. ”Ya really should be more concerned with what I want. D'ya really doubt my ability to hurt ya worse than you could ever imagine? I could fuck you so hard that you'd go insane from the pain. I could drag your mum in here, bring a torch an' have you watch as I fucked her to death before I took you with her blood all over my cock. And I'd fuckin' pay extra to do it, too. So don't piss me off.”  
He licked a tear from her cheek. ”But so far, ya haven't put me in that mood. Yet. So far, I'm the softest fuck you'll ever get within these walls. You should be real grateful I was the one that picked ya an' not Kraash over there.” Kraash picked that moment to roar his completion accompanied by a hysterical scream. It almost sounded like he had split his 'choice' apart.  
”Well, that kinda proved my point, didn't it?” Graznikh remarked. The girl was staring at him, so scared now that she was barely breathing. She flinched a little as he tickled her cheek with his claws.  
”Feel these? I'm gonna prepare ya a little and you don't want me to cut ya up from inside, so hold the fuck still now.” He spat in his hand and made sure to make it sound as disgusting as possible. Then he reached down and smeared her cunt with spittle. Being so close to plashnak had made his cock leak quite a bit of precum, but a bit of extra lubrication wouldn't hurt. After a moment's thought, he decided to make it a bit of a luxury fuck and added some lube to both cunt and cock as well. She wriggled a little as he began inserting a slick finger, but a warning growl made her hold still. The finger was soon followed by another and he thrust them slowly in and out, opening the way a little, careful not to rend her. Then he couldn't resist holding them still in there while reaching up with a lube-slick thumb to tease the sensitive spot above. The girl was staring out into darkness with an expression of extreme discomfort, but let out an involuntary sound halfway between revulsion and obscene pleasure as he rubbed her sensitivity.  
”What was that now?” he whispered as her cunt clenched his fingers. ”Felt a little better than ya thought it would?”  
”No,” she whispered.  
”Y'know, I think it does. I think you like gettin' fingered like this.”  
”No,” she gasped. She tried to pull away, but Graznikh's weight pinned her in place.  
”Fine, I'll stop.” He removed his fingers and before she could react he had unhooked the handcuffs from where they held her hands stuck to the wall. He pulled her arms down on each side, then pinned them in place with his elbows as he embraced her and grabbed her shoulders. Held like this, she could not move as he began prodding her with his cock again.   
”The more ya fight this, the more it'll hurt,” he groaned as he pushed the tip in. He held it there for a moment before withdrawing. After a few repeats she stopped struggling and Graznikh laughed a little. ”Now what? Didn't hurt as bad as ya thought it would?”  
She didn't reply, but he watched her expression carefully as he pushed back in. She had squeezed her eyes shut; tears were still trickling down her cheeks and her silence was broken only by sobs, but she seemed to have had the fight taken out of her for now. He didn't withdraw fully the next time and pushed a little deeper with every thrust, making little grunting gasps into her ear with every push. Soon his cock was fully inside and he held still, propping himself up on his elbows to leer at her.  
”Didn't think your first time would happen like this, huh?” He did not know if it really was her first time, but neither did he care. ”I bet ya thought it'd be with some noble tark prick. Well here's some news for ya; if I'd been one o' those, this _woulda_ hurt. 'Cause he woulda shoved it right in, not givin' a shit if ya liked it or not. He probably woulda thought ya _did_ like it once ya started screamin'. Tarks don't know shit 'bout how to fuck; they don't teach 'em that in your fancy schools.”   
He began to roll his hips and withdrew almost all the way, then pushed back in just as slowly, alternating the depth and angle of his thrusts so that she could not escape the feeling. A finger snaked up to tease a nipple and he gave her little lovebites without breaking the skin. Every now and then he thrust a little harder, deeper. The first time he did so her little moan was genuine but she soon bit her lip and tried to choke it back, succeeding only halfway.  
”Oh, for the everlovin' fuck,” Graznikh growled as he stopped thrusting. ”Stop bleating like that, you sound like a fucking goat! Just shut up or let it out, don't go halfway or I'll force it outta ya. Got it?”  
She nodded.  
”Good,” he purred. ”Let's try again, shall we?”   
She seemed to choose the second alternative, for her lips parted and with every deep thrust she let out a little squeaking moan.  
”Ah... Ah... Ah...”  
”That's better,” he purred. ”Feels better too, I'd wager. Now let's make yer mummy hear ya take this an' love it!”  
”No-ooohh!”

 

Záhovar did not have a pleasant moment of awakening. It had taken some effort on her behalf, but she had finally managed to shove Sulmurz's unconscious body into bed; he was surprisingly heavy for his size. Now he had somehow wound up wrapped around her while they slept and she woke up from his drooling into her ear. When she had tried to pull away he had only taken a tighter hold, smacked his mouth loudly and gone back to sleep with a contented purr. She let out an annoyed sigh but decided not to force the issue. The bond told her that Graznikh was having a good time; probably wanking or having a tumble with Praktash by the feel of it. Little sparks of pleasure kept prodding her through the bond no matter how she tried to shut him out.  
She had gone to bed with her robe still on, but the sash had been undone at some point and the robe had slipped up and bunched at her waist. Now Sulmurz's raging evening wood was firmly lodged between her bare thighs, pulsing a little and strengthening her conviction that putting him in the bed had been a good idea. _At least he is not drooling on me anymore. If he is well enough for it, he will either assault me the moment he wakes up, or he will run. We shall see._   
When Sulmurz did wake up, it was bright outside and he didn't dare to move. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. It was like different parts of his brain took in different parts of his current situation all at once and were unable to piece it together. Soft bed. His arms around someone, another arm on top of his. Smooth, warm skin against his. He _knew_ that hair, that scent... And where exactly _was_ his cock?!  
”I'm gon' die,” he whispered to himself.  
”Not yet,” came the husky reply. Sulmurz froze. _What? Does she want me to..? What? ...Trust yer nose. If in doubt, Sulmurz, always follow your nose._ He slowly, carefully pushed his nose up behind her ear and sniffed. He smelled no anger or annoyance, only rut and _her._ Then his nose got wet and he realised what he had done to her ear earlier. With a pained wince, he moved his hips just enough to feel that his cock had slobbered precum all over her thighs as well. _Oh,_ fuck! _She's gonna kill me now, I just know it!_  
Záhovar inched closer until her back was molded against his barrelled, leathery chest. His dick bobbed hard in response and the lubrication made it slide up into that tight triangular space between her thighs and cunt. Sulmurz bit back a whimper as she began to roll her hips, opening her folds around his shaft and spreading her own wetness along his length. _She's just toying with me,_ he firmly reminded himself. _She'll rub around 'til she gets off, then kick me off the bed. There's no chance she'll let me stick it to her after whatever happened last night._ But if that was what it took to survive, then he'd roll with it. Slowly he slid his nose up along the jagged edge of her ear, followed by his tongue. A delighted little sigh reached his ears and he continued. She tilted her hips so that the sensitive nub rubbed against his shaft; if Sulmurz had dared to, he would have grabbed her hips and fucked her right then. But he was too scared to move. She took his calloused hand and placed it upon one of her breasts, moving his fingers around with her own to instruct him on how to touch. As Sulmurz obeyed, he was rewarded with a soft moan. Of his own volition he moved his other hand to the other breast and did the same to that, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her against his chest while gently circling both nipples with his fingers.  
  
Her hips moved away and his dick was left cold and wet. Sulmurz could not keep the intense disappointment from showing in his face when he knew that it was over, but she had not told him to stop touching her so he held her fast. Something warm and soft and _wet_ suddenly enveloped the head of his cock and Sulmurz whimpered giddily when he understood what it was. _I can't believe this, I just can't!_   
Once the tip of his cock was firmly pressed against the entrance to her cunt, Záhovar turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye. She was smiling seductively, and fear bloomed in Sulmurz's chest. Then she rolled her hips and nodded.  
Sulmurz moved as if in a trance. He rolled on top of her and his weight pressed her face first into the mattress, nuzzling her ear and licking her neck as he went. He didn't hilt inside right away; instead, he rubbed his cock against the sensitive nub, massaging it with rolling hips. Záhovar gasped quietly and a little smile broke through his fear. _Thought I'd just hammer away, did ya? Oh no. This won't be over soon, m'dear._ Záhovar's increasingly laboured breathing made him grin and soon she was bucking up against him. Sulmurz held his cock still with his hand, letting her rub against it as much as she liked until she pushed herself up against him again and invited him in. _This isn't happening. It's just another of my hang-over wet dreams. That blasted Uruk'll come barging in at any moment now an' tear me away. Or Graznikh'll wake me up an' tell me we're under attack. Or the building'll catch fire, or the armies of the West'll swoop down upon us, or..._  
None of that happened. Sulmurz groaned loudly as he pushed down and in until his pubic bone was firmly lodged against Paradise. He held perfectly still when she placed a hand on his hip. _Can I move? She didn't tell me to move. Did she tell me to move?_ Záhovar met his eyes again and nodded. He trembled from restraint as he slowly began to thrust. Every fiber of his body screamed as he fought his instincts and used his cock to caress her insides instead of slamming it into her like he wanted to do. _She's a_ lady, _I can't fuck her like a common whore!_  
Suddenly she let out a frustrated sound and stars exploded inside Sulmurz's eyelids as she twisted around and slapped him hard. He let out a loud growl of surprise and stared at her; for all the teasing and torment she had put him through, Záhovar had never hit him before.  
”You will fuck me like you know how to do it!” she growled, her blunt little teeth bared in a feral grin.   
Sulmurz laughed out loud in sheer surprise. He dug his clawed toes into the mattress for support and grabbed her hips and yanked her closer, pricking the soft skin with his claws. Then he moved a little faster than before. But only a little.  
”Wanna know if I can fuck, do ya?” he murmured hoarsely. ”Let's see if ya can handle it first.” When she made a move to slap him again he caught her wrist. After catching the other one as well he pinned them to the mattress above her head and with a deep roar, he proceeded to fuck her hard. Záhovar moaned into the pillow as he pounded into her. Sulmurz soon felt his balls tighten up and he came with a growl. Záhovar let out a disappointed, frustrated groan as she felt the hot, silky liquid squirt inside. Sulmurz held still for a brief moment, then he chuckled at her surprised gasp as he began to thrust just as hard and fast as before.  
”Sorry to disappoint ya,” he grunted. ”But I'm not done with ya just yet!”   
Záhovar blessed herself for going through with this as she finally got the fuck she had so desperately craved ever since Graznikh abandoned her in the rebel camp. She half expected her new snaga to do or say something that would ruin the moment, but Sulmurz seemed intent not to muck things up this time. He had to stretch to reach her neck but once he did so he bit down and held on as he thrust. Her eyes glazed over as she felt the climax build. Sulmurz also felt the familiar tightening sensation and thrust harder, faster, with one hand on her hip and one on her shoulder to keep her steady.

 

Graznikh suspected that the girl had faked the previous sounds, but as he began to fuck her in earnest there was no more faking it. She pressed her lips to his muscular shoulder to muffle her cries and clung to his neck when she found nothing else to hold onto. He tried to hold back at first, draw it out a little, but her sounds and the amazing feeling soon took over. He didn't really care about making her feel good, so her first orgasm took him completely by surprise.  
”Well, oops,” he chuckled at her shocked expression, pushing in hard and holding still as she trembled. _Might as well let her catch her breath a little, if she's gonna be like that._ The moment he picked up the pace, the bond opened wide as Záhovar lost control over it. Graznikh roared as he got blasted by _her_ and scoured by insane pleasure. The girl shrieked as he grabbed her armpits and yanked her up into his lap, bouncing her upon his cock as he thrust up into her. He pushed her down on it and impaled her as he came, oblivious to her moan of discomfort. Once he had caught his breath, he withdrew and turned her around, hilting inside from behind. He thrust slower at first, snarling into her ear and slavering while snaking a hand down between her legs and began to tease the little nub as he picked up the pace again.  
”Welcome to Lugburz,” he growled as her ecstatic moans filled the whore-cell once more. The sound of her desperation was so sweet that he soon came again, and his bucking pushed her over the edge as well.   
”I can't, I can't, I can't,” she moaned as Graznikh dropped her back down onto the mattress and began to hump her again.  
”I don't care,” he growled in reply. ”Want me to stop?”  
Her only reply was a loud ”ahh!” as he hit some sensitive spot inside. He filled her cunt to capacity and held her hips steady.  
”D'ya want me to stop?!” he growled louder.  
”Nooo!!” Astonished laughter was heard from outside.  
”Good! 'Cause you haven't had enough of my cock yet.” Her openmouthed moan as he began to thrust again was all the answer he needed.   
  
Záhovar's cry as she came was the sweetest music Sulmurz had ever heard. _That's right,_ he thought victoriously as she trembled and squeezed his cock. _Gonna fuck that Uruk right outta your head!_ He began thrusting again the moment she nodded, but then he stopped. Before she had a chance to tell him off he grabbed her hips and flipped her over onto her back. Záhovar gave him a look of pure outrage as he flicked his tongue at her with a tenacious leer. He pulled her legs up against his shoulders and began to move again, and soon Záhovar had forgotten to be angry at his audacity.  In this position he could reach her neck with ease and kept nibbling and licking both it and her ears as he fucked her. His hands sought and found her breasts and showered her nipples with little nudges and caresses. When she came a second time he caught the skin at the nape of her neck and bit down, piercing the skin and leaving a pretty bite mark right where he liked them. The pain seemed to excite her even more; her arms snaked around his neck and her little nails dug into his upper back as he thrust harder again.  
”Oh, fuck _yesss,_ ” he groaned against her neck as she scratched him hard. Then she suddenly coiled up and _bit_ his ear; the second peak shook his core before he knew it and he roared as he came even harder than the first time, spraying the High Officer's upper body with slaver and not giving a shit about it.  
Záhovar almost purred a little as Sulmurz gathered himself back up again. Now that he had come twice, the edge of his horniness had been dulled a little. He wasn't spent, but he was more in control and could use his body to his full advantage. He switched position again and pulled one of her legs up against his chest. The other was trapped underneath him so that he entered her sideways, making his cock feel bigger than it was. The effect was not lost on her; Sulmurz could see her eyes widen as he started over, his balls rubbing against the inside of her wet thigh with every thrust.  
The more Sulmurz gained control, the more Záhovar lost it. Who knew that this insecure little Orc would turn out to be such a stud? If he kept this up he definitely deserved to hear her whimper his name.  
”Aahh, Sulmurz,” she moaned, her face half-hidden into the pillow as if a little ashamed by her lack of self-control. From the corner of her eye she could see his eyes widen as his face cracked up into a victorious leer. He changed the angle ever so slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut and shouted a loud ”Yes!!” as he found the perfect one. One clawed hand grabbed her shoulder as he pummeled that most sensitive spot and a few rounds of that sent her well and truly over the edge.  
Sulmurz almost came as well as she thrashed and bucked underneath him. After her spasms faded, he flipped her onto her belly and briefly fucked her from behind again. One last sweet, amazing climax and that was it; he was completely spent and wouldn't have been able to get his dick up even if she had commanded him to. He slowly slid off her back and pulled her into spooning position with his arms and legs around her, the same position as they had been in upon awakening. _Like nothing's happened. Like nothing's changed. But everything has._ He drifted back to sleep with a big grin while listening to Záhovar's sated breathing.  
  
After coming once more and making his supposedly unwilling partner come twice, Graznikh finally spent himself fully with a loud groan and crashed down on top of her. He lay completely still for a long while, absently noticing the new sounds of fucking that had replaced the old in the surrounding cells. The bond that had kept injecting him with ecstasy throughout had calmed, meaning that Záhovar must have fallen asleep. _Feels like Sulmurz finally had enough of your bossing him around. Good for him; I hope he had as good a time of it as you did. Lookin' forward to having a chat with him about it in the morrow. If things work out, one sweet night we might both be there, tossin' ya back and forth between our cocks until you're begging for mercy._  
The tark girl whimpered a little as he withdrew; she looked to be beyond exhaustion. Gently he rolled her over onto her back and used his black seed to paint the symbol of the Great Eye on her lower belly.  
”Hope ya liked the initiation ceremony,” he grinned. ”Little whore. Savour this while you can, 'cause I doubt the next one will be as enjoyable. I might recommend ya to some of my pals though; that cunt of yours is like made to take Orc cock.” He left her and went over to the bucket. After wiping their fluids off himself, he dressed and left the cell. Outside, he was greeted by loud cheering.  
”What the fuck _was_ that?!” Kraash exclaimed. ”'Welcome to Lugburz'?” He broke into hysterical laughter, then winced as Graznikh enthusiastically punched his guts, but not hard enough to be unfriendly.  
”Told ya I couldn't be quick with the little lady!”  
”No one's sayin' anything 'bout taking yer time,” Ghakû said with a sneer. ”But that almost sounded like a _soft_ fuck. Almost sounded like she enjoyed it.”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I've never cared much for leavin' 'em half-dead afterwards. I prefer it when they have that shocked look of 'I-fucked-an-Orc-and-I-liked-it'. By the way, d'ya think we were heard all the way back to the main room?”  
”Without a doubt,” Ghakû chuckled.  
”Good,” Graznikh purred. ”I'm gonna savour the thought of her trying to explain to her mum why she sounded like that throughout an' has a stupid grin on her face when they bring her back.”  
”You're sick,” Kraash decided. 

 

The next time he woke up, Sulmurz had the worst headache he had ever experienced. The flickering candlelight made his eyes blur the moment he opened them and nausea washed over him. It was all he could do to roll over and throw up so hard that he thought his stomach would come along with the rest. Of course he didn't notice the bucket until it was too late; he had missed it, just barely.  
”Fuckin' Eye-balls,” he whimpered and groaned as his head pounded from the sound of his own voice. Then a cool, damp, wonderful rag dabbed his forehead and he closed his eyes and sighed with bliss.  
”How much did I drink last night?” he muttered as he rolled back into bed.   
”Not all that much. Watered-down ale, mostly.”  
Despite the thundering headache he managed to scowl at hearing Praktash's smug voice. ”What the fuck're you doing here?!”  
”Reciprocatin',” the obnoxious Uruk said with a happy grin.  
”For what?!”  
”You don't..? Oh. Guess ya don't remember.”  
Sulmurz opened an eye and shielded it from the accursed firelight. ”Remember what? What the fuck did ya do to me?!”  
”Well, _I_ didn't do anythin',” Praktash drawled. ”You did the job all by yourself. An' what a good job it was... You really have a sweet cock.”  
Sulmurz roared and then collapsed with a whimper. A flicker of a memory resurfaced. ”Záhovar...”  
”Yeah, you did mention her name a few times. Shouted it really; loud enough for the whole tavern to hear. Hope it was a sweet dream.” He handed him a mug filled with a painkilling drug, but Sulmurz tore it from his hand and threw it against the wall.  
”Suit yourself.”  
”Get. Out,” Sulmurz growled, eyes watering from the pain. ”Get out, an' _stay_ the fuck out! You've fucked enough with me to last me a bloody lifetime an' if you try to lay a finger on me again, I swear I'll fuckin' tear it off!!! And your arm with it!!!”  
”Skai,” Praktash breathed with big eyes. ”Fine, I'll tell Záhovar you don't wanna see her again. Shit, who knew that getting what you want would turn you into such a prick?”  
”Yeah, well fuck you!” Sulmurz growled. Then he frowned. ”What? Wait, what?!”  
But Praktash had already left the room. Sulmurz fell back onto the soft bed, whimpering because of his throbbing head and the confusion inside. Unable to rise, he buried his head into the pillow and let out the dry sobs of that he could no longer keep in.

The moment Praktash closed the door and turned around, his sight exploded with stars and red light.   
”You,” Záhovar hissed, ”are an utter bastard!!”  
”I was just jokin'!” Praktash protested weakly as he got up from the floor.   
”Listen.” He squeaked as Záhovar grabbed him by the hair and shoved his ear against the door. Muffled sobs and whimpers were heard from inside.   
”Listen,” Záhovar repeated, ”to what your _joking_ has done. Was it worth it? Would you become like Gîrakûn, raping and destroying every pleasure for others while taking and taking, all for yourself?”  
The comparison made him balk. ”I didn't mean it like that! I was just messin' with him.”  
He swallowed hard as Záhovar's eyes and the collar around his neck grew so cold that the muscles underneath contracted.  
”You have gone too far this time, and have lost my favour! If you wish it back, you will keep your distance and _wait._ I will tell you when you may approach again and when you do so, you will apologise. To _him._ Not with touches or more assaults, but with words and honesty. And if you ever do anything like this again, I swear I will place you under compulsion. I will make you experience everything he has, but from your own worst nightmare. I will erase the memory of Gîrakûn in your fears and replace it with _me._ Have I made myself clear? Have we reached an _understanding_?”  
Praktash shook with dread and stared into her icy eyes as he nodded. Then she let him go without another word and he took the opportunity to run.   
Záhovar sighed and shook her head slowly after him. Then she went into the room where Sulmurz lay. He did not look up as she entered.   
”I thought I told ya to fuck off.”  
”No, you did not.” She could hear his breath hitch in the middle of a sob as he recognised her voice. ”How are you feeling?”  
”My head hurts,” came the muffled reply.  
”Do you want something for the pain?” She filled a mug with the same painkiller that Praktash had tried to give him earlier and sat down by the bedside, taking care not to step in the vomit. Sulmurz gave her a apprehensive look as he took the mug.  
”Thanks... Master.” He downed the bitter liquid and scowled as he laid back down. Then he flinched as Záhovar began to dab at his forehead with the wet rag. She gave him a reassuring nod and he dared to close his eyes and relax.  
”The fuck happened last night?” he whispered to himself before giving her an almost bashful glance.  
”What is the last thing you remember?” she asked.  
He frowned as he tried. Then he gave her an embarrassed grin. ”Yer hand on my cock. But I dunno if that's real or not.” A little tremor ran down his spine at seeing her smile, but he was unsure if it was from fear or something else. ”An' I remember... the bath house. T'was a bath house, right? An'... you were naked. I was... My hands were... um...” His head began to pound as his breathing quickened at the memory, and he tried to force himself to calm down. ”But everything after that is just... weird.” He gave her a pleading look. ”I didn't... with _him,_ did I?”  
”No, you did not... with _him,_ ” she replied with a playful smile. Sulmurz sighed with relief and closed his eyes again, breathing calmer now that he knew that his worst fears had not come to pass. Then he began to turn her words over in his head and frowned a little.  
”So... I didn't... with him.”  
”No.”  
”But... I did? With... someone.”  
”Yes.”   
He bit his lip as a treacherous, hopeful smile threatened to take over. His hand moved on its own, reaching up to brush the robe off her shoulder without even asking for permission and revealed a bite mark that he knew fit perfectly to his own fangs. He let his hand fall back down with an astonished smile.  
”I thought it was just a dream,” he whispered.  
”If it was, then it was a good one.”  
Sulmurz couldn't keep the smug leer off his face as Záhovar stood and retied her robe. She gave him one last smile as she left the room. Now that his sense of smell had returned, he drank in the scent of their activities that lingered all over the bed. There was even a little tear in the sheets where she had pulled at them and a bloodstain on the pillow from when he bit her. Further down were the tell-tale black spots of spunk as well as a colourless wet spot where she had lain. And the smell of _that...  
_ ”Yes!!” he shouted and groaned as the headache returned with full force. But even so, he couldn't keep from grinning like an idiot as he recounted every little detail in his head.

 

Sulmurz was not fit to be moved, so Záhovar allowed him to remain in her room. As she left the tavern that afternoon to go up to the fortress, she almost collided with Graznikh in the doorway. They gave each other an apprehensive look and spoke at the same time.  
”Maybe I should-”  
”Follow me.”  
”...Right.” Graznikh told Ghakû and Kraash to go on without him and went after Záhovar who had already begun walking. ”Where're we headed?” he asked as he caught up with her.  
”To confront Dachman.”  
”On our own? Shouldn't we bring an army or something?”  
She glanced at him. ”Do you doubt your abilities?”  
He snorted. ”It's not _my_ abilities I doubt.” The words left his mouth before he had even thought them and he bit his tongue. Záhovar stopped so abruptly that he walked into her.  
”I didn't mean that!” Graznikh exclaimed. ”I wasn't even planning on sayin' that!”  
She gave him a long, hard look. ”Are you jealous?”  
”What? Nar! Skai, nar! I'm glad Sulmurz finally got what he's been droolin' after all this time!”  
”You promised to guard yourself.”  
”I'm sorry!” Graznikh gave her a pleading look. ”Look, could we... not talk about this in the streets?” He threw their crowded surroundings a nervous look. Záhovar gave him a curt nod.  
”Later, then. For now, to the fortress.”  
”I hope the bastard does something stupid. I could do with hitting something. Or some _one._ ”  
”That makes two of us.”  
Graznikh bared his fangs in a mirthless grin. ”Like old times, then. Just you an' me, ready to take on the world.”  
Záhovar smirked a little. ”Not quite.”  
  
The fortress was as abandoned as the last time Záhovar visited.  
”It was to be expected,” she said to the disappointed Graznikh as he kicked a wardrobe to splinters with a frustrated roar. ”The Nazgûl said that he was absent.”  
”What Nazgûl?” Graznikh growled.  
”I met one of them the last time I was here,” she replied as she opened a drawer. ”It gave me the order to find him once I was done in the South. But come, help me search the place. There may be some clue left as to where he has gone.”   
They went through each room in the lavish commander's quarters, methodically opening every drawer, chest, box and cupboard. Graznikh knocked underneath tables and chairs in search of hidden places, but found nothing.   
”Anything?” he asked Záhovar. She sat at the desk in the study, sorting through reports, lists and other papers.  
”Nothing of value. He did not leave in a hurry, that is for certain.” Graznikh growled and left the room. Záhovar kept reading; the reports were all dated and several were missing, but she could find no pattern in their absence, no hidden code. There was a ruckus in the dining hall, followed by sneezing and a victorious whoop. She looked up as Graznikh came in, covered in ash and soot.  
”People always try to hide stuff in fireplaces. Fireplaces an' floorboards. No floorboards in here; 's all made of stone, that left only the fireplace.” He placed the lockbox on the desk in front of her with a smug grin. Záhovar touched the little hole on the front side of the box.  
”We need the key.”  
”Nar, that's just a ruse. No keys're needed for this.” He took it and began to thumb it.  
”Where did you learn this?” Záhovar asked.  
”Found another one like this, long ago. It's Elf-make, or maybe Dwarf. Could even be both. I came by the lock mechanism by accident, with a little help from you.” He flashed the bewildered Officer a grin, then he frowned as he concentrated on finding the hidden buttons that would open it. Eventually he found them and the box clicked open as the peg fell out. Inside was a small note which he gave to Záhovar. A smile slowly spread across her lips as she read it.  
”Good news?”  
”We now know where he went after leaving here. There is even a map, though I do not recognise the area it depicts. But it does not say whether he stayed there or moved on. And the trail is nearly cold.”  
”Doesn't matter. We're on to him now; he's bound to have left traces along the way. Someone'll have seen him, or heard of him. We'll get him yet.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About bloody time Sulmurz got some, right? I wrote that scene pretty much at the same time as I wrote their first encounter, so it's been long coming (ehm...). Only one chapter left now, then it's on to the next part where (SPOILER) stuff will happen.


	20. Some Kind Of Resolution

Back in the inn, Záhovar read the note over and over while sipping some wine. _Northeast, near the sea. What sea? The Sea of Rhûn? But the map does not show Rhûn. Could there be another sea even further northeast?_ She frowned a little and left the note on the bedside table before walking over to the window. The day was a cloudless one and the Sea of Nûrnen glittered in the sunlight, lightly veiled by the many smoking chimneys from the mills, bakeries, smokehouses and other food preparation factories, the view blurred even more by the uneven window glass. Sulmurz was asleep on the bed behind her; he was still too dizzy to stand.  
It was at that moment she noticed it. She inhaled, but felt like there was not enough air in the room despite the open window. She tried to cough but found that she could not. Slowly but surely her breathing became increasingly laboured. Záhovar frowned, analysing the strange sensation. _Could it be poison?_ She looked at the wine glass. During her training, Gîrakûn had discovered that Záhovar was highly resistant to all poisons she knew of. Few affected her at all and those that did left only a minor reaction at doses that would have killed a Man within moments, no matter how they were introduced.  
 _Whoever did this must have found an exception._ Dark red bubbles began to form in her mouth, nose and the corners of her eyes. As her throat was blocked and her breathing stopped functioning altogether she opened the bond wide to call for aid.  
  
Meanwhile, Graznikh had returned to the barracks and was having a good time. He was deeply involved in a game of dice with Mikbork with Zosh, Lîrnash and Urkhish as avid onlookers. A few of the members of the Uruk uzhâk had come over to visit despite the loud protests from the Orc garrison's regular residents, but Margzat's presence had silenced all but the most vocal and those had eventually been silenced by those smarter than themselves. Now Praktash sat nearby and was mixing ingredients for healing salve while chatting away with Ghrazagh. Margzat was sleeping behind him with an arm around his waist, hand resting on his thigh, and was snoring loudly. Graznikh was just about to throw when the bond was yanked and his twitch sent the dice flying.  
”Ah skai,” he groaned and Ghakû laughed where he lay on a strawbag.  
”Don't be like 'at now.”   
Graznikh gave him a sharp retort and tried to ignore the bond, but there was a sense of urgency to it that he couldn't block out. ”The fuck izzit now?”  
”Huh?” Urkhish grunted.  
”Sorry, gotta quit for now. Top One's callin'.”  
”Aw come _on!_ I was winning!” Mikbork protested as Graznikh rose.  
”Sorry snuffler, ya hafta beat me another night.”  
”Should I come too?” Praktash asked, but Graznikh shook his head.  
”Nar, not unless ya wanna. She probably just wants me to pick up a quill she's dropped or something.”  
”Hey now, show some respect, buddy.” Graznikh snorted, but gave Praktash an apologetic little nod as he donned his armour and knives. _And who the fuck cares?_ he thought as he left the barracks and entered the streets of Thaurband. The streets were not as crowded as usual thanks to the annoying sunlight, but there was still quite a large number of people outside, both hooded Orcs, Men and those who were half of both. He adopted a confident, calm stride and shoved those aside who did not get out of the way fast enough. The delicious smell of fresh meat reached him as he passed one of the butcheries. _Gotta pick up some o' those little meat pies for Praktash,_ he thought. _I could really do with a suck after this._ Not that he ever needed to pay his buddy; he only had to ask him. But Graznikh enjoyed playing ”whore and customer” with him every now and then, and that included payment. Praktash had laughed out loud the first time he had suggested it, but once he was done he had complied in a way no real Dunlending whore would ever do, and that only made it all the sweeter.  
The urgency in the bond suddenly peaked, along with a wave of pain and fear. Graznikh frowned as he examined the unexpected change. Then his eyes widened and he broke into a run.  
The bouncers at the inn were familiar with his face by now so they let him in without the usual harassment. There was a lot of cursing and yelling as he charged through the main room, pushing people out of the way to reach the stairs and Záhovar's room.   
  
Záhovar was lying on the floor. From her mouth, nose and eyes came a strange, black foam that seemed to scratch her insides raw, along with a slow trickle of blood. Her body cramped as her lungs struggled to fill themselves with air. The sight filled Graznikh's mind with such dread that his knees almost gave out.  
”Shit,” he hissed as he knelt beside her. ”Oh shit shit _shit!_ ” _Poison. Has to be. Skai, this isn't my field of expertise!_ Not knowing what else to do, he began to scoop the foam out of her mouth, not caring that his claws raked her tongue. At that point the innkeeper stuck his head in with a concerned expression.  
”Do you need- Oh!”  
”Send a runner to the barracks,” Graznikh growled. ”Get me Praktash! Uruk with red hair an' spikes in his face. An' if ya know anyone else who knows something 'bout poison, send 'em up as well! Hurry!!”   
Sulmurz jolted awake at the sound and groaned in pain. As the terrified innkeeper disappeared, Graznikh looked at his mistress and tried to give her of his strength the way they had done during her stay in Blog Shakâmb. But she had been in control then and had taken it on her own. Now she was barely conscious and he had to force it on her. _Don't die,_ he begged. _Please don't die!_  
” _Cannot... die...”_ The soundless Black Speech whisper in his head made him start. Her lips had not moved, but even so he had _felt_ her speak. She cramped again, weaker now, and another gush of black froth mixed with blood jetted out of her mouth and nose. Graznikh wiped it away with a piece of the blanket. Her agony pounded through the bond now, a searing, thundering pain that almost made his eyes water even though he was not the one bearing the brunt of it.   
”The fuck's goin' on?” Sulmurz asked from the bed, but Graznikh ignored him.  
”C'mon, open up,” he whispered as he took her head in his hands and looked into her unseeing eyes. ”Gimme some o' it, lemme carry it for a while.” The feeling that assaulted him was like having a belt drawn far too tight around his chest, along with having dry salt poured down his throat. He snorted and wheezed and roared out the agony that Záhovar could not voice.  
After what seemed like an eternity, there was a ruckus from below. The next moment Praktash rushed in with his healer's bag slung over his shoulder and fell to his knees next to them.  
”Skai,” was all Praktash could say as he took in Záhovar's condition. He took some of the foam in his hand and sniffed it. It had become hard and crumbled like black pumice in his hand. Then he stood and checked the wine glass, but found nothing out of the ordinary.   
”Help her buddy,” Graznikh begged. ”Save her!”  
”I...” Praktash said with a despairing expression. ”I don't know how! I've never even seen anythin' like this before, ever!” He opened Záhovar's mouth and tried to look down her throat, but the foam blocked his view.   
In a desperate move, Graznikh stood and grabbed the Officer's legs. ”Help me lift her upside down!” Praktash complied and together, they tried to shake the foam out of her.  
  
”You can stop doing that,” a familiar voice said. Graznikh looked up in surprise as Eälaion walked in, blindfolded and dressed in his regular Tower servant's robe.  
”The fuck does a Lug-snaga know about poison?” Praktash snarled.  
”You tell me; you are one of them.”  
”I'll explain later,” Graznikh hissed as he pulled Praktash out of Eälaion's path. Then he turned to the high priest. ”Ya know anything 'bout this?”  
”If by 'knowing' you mean being aware of who did this and why, then no. I must disappoint you.” He leaned his staff against the wall and knelt next to Záhovar and judging by the way his mouth twisted, Graznikh thought he looked concerned. ”I do know the poison though. It is called 'Nightfoam', for obvious reasons.”  
”Never heard o' it,” Praktash grunted.  
”No, it is very rare and even more expensive.”  
”Deadly?” Graznikh asked.  
”Obviously,” Eälaion replied. ”A regular Man would have been dead by now. Lord Záhovar, however... it will probably kill him in time, when his body has bled dry. A slow, painful death.”  
”Screw that; what's the cure?” Praktash asked.  
Eälaion shook his head. ”There is none.”  
”Fuck that!” the Uruk snarled. ”There's always a cure, always! Ya just hafta find it!” He dug into his pack with the determination of one who had nothing to lose.   
  
Graznikh fell to his knees and placed a hand on Záhovar's chest. The bond felt dull now that she was unconscious. He felt numb, but pain of a different kind was slowly growing in his chest and would soon overwhelm him. Eälaion moved his hand to remove the black foam that had filled her mouth but Graznikh snarled at him and snapped his fangs. Eälaion lifted blindfolded eyes and nodded to him as he retreated. Graznikh's expression of fury turned to one of grief and he quickly looked away. Praktash cursed loudly when nothing he did helped to remove the black foam. _I can't leave her like this,_ Graznikh thought. _I can't lose her again._  
”What're you doin'?” Praktash asked as Graznikh pulled one of his old knives.  
”I can't just leave her,” Graznikh replied, not caring that Sulmurz shouted a protest from the bed or that Eälaion stood by the now closed door and heard his every word. _Nothing matters anymore._ He leaned in close and placed a hand on Záhovar's cheek. ”Don'tcha worry âmbal,” he murmured with a weak smile. ”You won't go alone into the Void. I'll be right behind ya, just you wait. Alright?”  
”What..? Are you fuckin' insane?!” Praktash exclaimed, eyes wide with fear. ”You can't do this!”  
”Sure I can. I won't go through this again,” Graznikh whispered and unplugged his ghâshpau skin to take one last sip. ”I was dead already the last time, felt like it, like my time here was overdue. I'm ready for this now, I really am.”  
”But _I'm_ not!” Praktash shouted. ”Don'tcha remember? I got you through that last time, an' she's not even dead yet!”  
”You've got Margzat,” Graznikh said quietly as he placed the edge of the knife against Záhovar's throat.   
Praktash suddenly pounced him with a howl and made him drop the skin. ”Don't be a fuckin' idiot, you don't know what awaits her!!”  
”What the everlovin' _fuck_?!” Graznikh roared as Praktash tried to pry his fingers off the knife. Their fight was interrupted by a sound from Záhovar. She had returned to consciousness and was cramping and thrashing, spitting black foam. Another soundless hiss suddenly reverberated through Graznikh's head and he clutched it in a feeble attempt to shut it out. Eälaion stood beside her with a concerned expression and the half-empty ghâshpau skin in his hand.  
”What the fuck d'ya think you're doin'?” Graznikh roared.   
Eälaion held out a hand as the two furious Orcs advanced on him and pointed at the ground. ”Look.”  
Both looked down and Praktash gasped. Wherever the spilled ghâshpau touched the foam, the latter had melted into a slimy, black liquid. Praktash tore the ghâshpau skin from Eälaion's hand and gave it a look. ”Ya think..?”  
As Eälaion nodded, they quickly set to work. Graznikh lifted Záhovar, grabbed her hair and tilted her head backwards. Then Praktash poured the ghâshpau down her mouth and nose, washing the quickly melting foam away. He also pinched her jaws to keep her from biting and shoved a finger down her throat to help it reach further.  
”Don't let her die,” Sulmurz muttered weakly from the bed.  
”I'm workin' on it,” Praktash growled. He took a narrow metal tube from his healer's bag and sucked up a mouthful of ghâshpau. Then he carefully forced the tube into the High Officer's cramping throat and spat the ghâshpau down into it.  
”Careful, ”Eälaion said as more black slime came out. ”The poison could still be potent even in this state. Do not get any of it in your own mouth.”  
”I know what I'm doin',” Praktash snapped but Graznikh hushed him.  
”Shut up, the Lion's not someone ya wanna piss off.”  
Praktash gave the odd-looking high priest a quizzical look, but remained silent. For a long while, the only sounds were Záhovar's desperate attempts to breathe, the spattering as the black slime jetted out of the tube in her throat and the crackling as the solid foam broke underneath their knees and feet.  
  
  
Eventually, Praktash judged it safe to remove the tube. Záhovar coughed and retched and Graznikh supported her as best he could. Praktash carefully wiped the stains off himself and threw the cloth into the fireplace before walking over to Eälaion.  
”You showed up just in time, didn'tcha?” He said softly while staring intently at the blindfolded priest as if he was looking straight into his eyes. ”Real good timin', an' with the ghâshpau? Now where'd ya learn about that, I wonder?”  
”I know that it may seem suspicious,” Eälaion replied calmly. ”But my arrival was long in the coming; I have been following you for over a week, unable to catch up as you travelled at speed. Only now did I manage to overtake you. That I arrived here and now was pure coincidence, whatever else it may seem like. As for the... drink, I did not even know what was in your friend's drinking skin until you mentioned it just now. He was the one who dropped it, not I. I merely observed.”  
”An' what more did you 'observe' while followin' us?”  
”As I said, I was too far behind you. Had I been closer, I would have revealed myself and spared myself the trouble of going all the way here. This is far beyond where I was originally headed and if not for Torunn's message, I would have been altogether oblivious of your master's presence.” He attempted to bow, but Praktash stood too close for him to do more than nod.  
”I still think this smells fishy.”  
Eälaion smiled a little. ”That would be the docks.”  
Praktash began to chuckle before he could stop himself. ”Fair enough. I'll let ya off the _hook_. For now.”  
”You are devoted. That is an admirable sentiment.”  
The Uruk gave him a mockingly bashful glance over his shoulder before returning to Záhovar's side. ”Flattery'll get ya nowhere.”  
  
Graznikh had picked Záhovar up to carry her over to the bed.  
”You are not upset?” she whispered hoarsely as he put her down.  
”I'm too scared to be upset right now,” he murmured.   
”If you ever try to kill her again, I'll fuckin' kill _you!_ ” Sulmurz snarled weakly.  
Záhovar frowned. ”Kill me?”  
”Just drop-”  
”He held a fuckin' dagger to yer throat,” Sulmurz continued. ”Woulda slit it, if-”  
”Well, he didn't!” Praktash snapped. ”Nobody killed anyone, everyone's alive, everybody's happy! Now drop it.”  
”'At's bloody easy for you to say, arse-licker!”  
”Will you cut it out with the-”  
”Shut UP, both o' ya!” Graznikh growled. Then he turned back to Záhovar. ”What'd ya wanna say?”  
Záhovar shook her head and pointed at her throat. Graznikh could feel her pain and went for pen and paper the moment she silently commanded him to. When she was done writing, he read the message out loud to the others.  
”This is not the time to fall apart. I need you, _all_ of you, to stay on your guard; whoever did this may still be here and may attempt a second assassination, now that I am incapacitated. Graznikh and Praktash, you will stay here in case that happens. Sulmurz will return to the barracks. Eälaion; unless you have more urgent business, I would invite you to remain here and speak with me once I am healed enough to do so.”  
”As you wish, High Officer,” the high priest said with a courteous bow.  
”Dismissed,” Záhovar whispered.

”Skai,” Graznikh said once they hit the streets again. ”I need to get drunk after this.”  
”I've a better idea,” Praktash said. ”C'mon.” Graznikh followed him with a confused frown. The Uruk went into a narrow, empty alley that turned out to be a dead end. There he stopped. ”Cozy, huh?”  
Graznikh gave the place a critical look. ”Feeling nostalgic?”  
Praktash was still smiling as he pushed Graznikh up against the dirty brick wall. Then he let out an Uruk battle-roar in his face, so loud that he almost broke his eardrums. ”Can ya hear me?” he asked calmly when he was done. Graznikh gave him a dazed look and nodded.  
”Good!” Praktash growled. ”Now chew on this for a while; imagine that I'd been just a little slower on my feet an' you made that decision without me bein' there to stop ya. Imagine that you'd found out about the ghâshpau _after_ you'd jammed a knife in her chest. How'd that've gone down? Huh?!”  
”You didn't feel what I felt,” Graznikh growled back. ”She was in fuckin' agony!”  
”So?! She's been through far worse, you know that! An' she survived!” Praktash leaned in close and whispered into Graznikh's bleeding ear. ”I meant to tell ya this earlier, but stuff kept interfering; she can't die.”  
”The fuck d'ya mean? Everyone can die!”  
”Keep your fuckin' voice down, d'ya want the whole town to hear? Nar, she can't die. Her body can, but not _she._ Her fate's far worse, an' you nearly condemned her with that crazy shit ya tried to pull back there. She told me all about it, when we were in that Mannish settlement down south. She can't die; if her body dies, she'll become like the Nazgûl. How would you've liked bein' bound to one of _them_?”  
Graznikh had no answer; he only stared at Praktash with wide, fearful eyes. ”What the fuck did they do to her in the Tower?” he whispered. ”My little âmbal... Skai, my...” He almost said 'my love' but his voice failed him before he could do so.  
”We gotta keep her alive, buddy. She's one arrow away from becomin' a wraith an' I don't wanna find out what happens to you if that happens.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Whatever she comes up with to fix this bloody brainbug o' mine, I'll tag along. Don't care what it is, so long at she fixes it. You tell her that, will ya?”  
Praktash nodded. ”I will. Don'tcha worry, I'll do whatever I can.”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, you've done enough. No need to wear yourself out. Lay off it buddy, I'll stand on my own for a while.” He grinned a little. 'Sides, if you keep this up I'mma have to be your snaga for a full year to make up for all the shit you've already done.”  
”You _are_ my snaga already,” Praktash purred. ”Now let's go get drunk! I found an alehouse near the slave pens where they spice the booze a little extra.”  
”Do I even wanna know what that means?” Graznikh asked with an uneasy wince. Then he laughed as Praktash nibbled his ear and followed where he lead.

  
”Praktash was not wholly wrong,” Záhovar said quietly as she sunk down into an armchair in her room at the inn a few days later. Her voice was hoarse and she was still in pain, but the ghâshpau took the worst edge off it. ”Your arrival was rather timely.”  
”I understand your suspicion,” Eälaion replied, ”but in truth, what reason would I have to poison you?”  
”Perhaps you did so to play the hero and garner more favour.”  
”Have I not your favour already? I would have believed so, with all the support you have given my flock.”  
Záhovar secretly enjoyed the way Eälaion spoke of the fanatic followers he had gathered. It was so obvious that he toyed with them, used them, it was even there in the words he used about them when they did not hear. _'Flock' indeed. Mindless cattle to be led to slaughter at a moment's notice, should the need arise._ ”And you do not wish for more?”  
Eälaion sat down once she gestured for him to do so. ”In truth, I have little interest in politics.”  
Záhovar gave him a critical look. ”Those who claim such things are usually those most deeply invested in them.”  
Eälaion laughed. ”That is true. But indeed, there is little room for me in the world of the Tower. I can never be a High Officer, and Mordor is such an inhospitable land. I would rather stay outside its borders; no offense meant. Your patronage has meant much to the Temple, and if there is anything our resources and connections might help you with, please, make use of them. It is the least we can do.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”Mordor?”  
”Ah... another word for the Black Land. Please, think nothing of it; I meant no offense.”  
”If you wish.”  
”If it does not displease you,” Eälaion said. ”There is something I would ask of you.”  
Záhovar gave him a sharp look. ”Very well. Humour me.”  
”Your Orcish companion seems... changed.”  
”He is.”  
”And you seem distressed.”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”What would you know of such things?”  
”Of distress? Much.” Eälaion smiled. There was something odd about him, Záhovar decided. Too calm, too peaceful. But no matter how she tried, she could not sense the slightest sign of him influencing her mind. There was magic, but not the active kind.  
”What you ask of is personal.”  
”You need say no more than you wish. But know that I am no threat to you. Indeed, I am indebted to you for what you have done for my flock.”  
”Even indebted people can talk.”  
”True. But why would I? I want to see you rise. I have invested in you as much as you have invested in the Temple. To fell you would only harm my own interests.”  
”I would risk too much by confiding in you.”  
Eälaion nodded as if deep in thought. ”There is always a price to pay for your actions. The choice to trust is yours alone.” As he opened his hands, Záhovar noticed that his palms were scarred as if burned.  
”I once touched something that was not meant for me,” the high priest said when he noticed the direction of her gaze.  
”Is that why you are no longer a Tower servant?” Záhovar asked. ”Because you attempted theft?”  
”It... may be.” He straightened up. ”Why have you parted with your companion?”  
  
Záhovar did not know why she allowed this conversation to continue. Could Eälaion be trusted? Every lesson she had ever received said no. No one could be trusted. Everyone was either above or below; those below strove to climb up and those above fought to keep their place and climb higher. But something else called out to her from deep inside, something claimed that the two of them were somehow connected, that there was nothing to fear. But there was _always_ something to fear. And still...  
”What is trust? What is the point of it?”  
Eälaion gave her an unreadable look and leaned back in his chair. ”Are you familiar with the feeling of mistrust? Of paranoia? Where you feel as though you are alone, as though everyone around you will sooner or later turn against you? As though they already have, only you do not know the details of it yet?” He continued as Záhovar nodded. ”Trust is the absence of that feeling. A place inside or outside where you can let go, where you can show weakness without fear of judgement, retaliation or of being taken advantage of. A person you trust is a person you can rely upon to shield you from all that, whom you know will not betray or use you.”  
”There are no such people.”  
”But there are. You must only find them.”  
”Nothing is unconditional.”  
”I did not say that it was. Trust is mutual; it must go both ways. If you are untrustworthy, you will never find those whom you might trust in turn. If you use others only to betray them in the end, they will treat you in the same manner. But show that you can be trusted, relied upon, and they will reach out to you.”  
”How could I? I am a High Officer; that is my purpose. I have no other!”  
”If that is the case, then what will you do once the war is over? Entertain the thought that your master wins this seemingly neverending war; what then will you do? Will you fade into nothingness? Will you become a petty tyrant like so many other High Officers will no doubt become, and fall as fast as they will to other, equally ambitious would-be tyrants in turn?”  
Záhovar stared at him, the slightest crease appearing between her eyebrows. This she had never even considered.  
”Follow your master's example and see beyond the now,” Eälaion said. ”There is more to life than mindless domination and an eternal struggle for more power. Find that other meaning. With some luck, it will give you the solace and stability you seek. And it will be real.”  
”I do not know how,” Záhovar whispered.   
Eälaion gave her a kind smile. ”Perhaps you could speak with your companion? He might be able to help you.”  
”And how can I trust _him?_ He fell to hate compulsion without even knowing that it happened!”  
  
”Compulsion?” Eälaion frowned. ”I am not familiar with that term, the way you use it.”  
Záhovar hesitated, but decided that she had already said this much. Falling silent now would only ensure curiosity. ”It is a rare kind of sorcery that affects the mind. A kind of mind-domination that feeds off strong emotions. Under its influence, the victim cannot disobey the commands of the one holding the leash, even when it means agony and death. Deep inside, their mind is still their own, but their body and whatever sensations it experiences are not. It is the pinnacle of dark sorcery; the near-complete domination of another's existence and experience.”  
Now Eälaion looked thoroughly shaken. ”And... how many know how to use this... sorcery?”  
”Only a select few,” Záhovar replied, her voice little more than a whisper. ”Its use is sanctioned by our Master, but none outside His closest circle have access to this spell. As far as I know, at any rate. The destruction that wanton usage would cause is reason enough to keep even the knowledge of it strictly limited.”  
”If that is the case, then why do you tell me this? I am not a part of this inner circle.”  
”Are you an enemy?”  
Eälaion smiled a little. ”No, I am no enemy to you. And I agree; this knowledge is best kept hidden.” Then he grew serious. ”And you say your companion is under such a spell?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”That is what I suspect, though it should be impossible. He is a berserker; as far as I know, they cannot be influenced in this way.”  
”Do you know why?”  
”No. All I know is that somehow, the ability to berserk blocks the spell's approach. I attempted this spell myself on him before I was certain, and he berserked the moment it touched his mind, as I have been taught would happen.”  
Eälaion scowled under the blindfold. ”And have you ever been subjected to this yourself?”  
”Yes, but only briefly during my training. A later attempt has been made, but I overcame it.”  
He took a few sips from his wine glass, as if hesitating to go on. But then he put it down and took a deep breath. ”And what of the bond you share?”  
  
The table fell over as Záhovar attacked, and the next moment she held a knee against Eälaion's chest and a dagger to his throat. ”Who told you this?” she hissed. ”When and where?”  
”I sensed it, in Khand when we met the first time.”  
”How?!”  
Even though she could not see his eyes, Záhovar knew the high priest was afraid. But then he sighed, and it seemed to drain from him all at once. His voice was quiet and calm as he spoke.  
”I cannot tell you, for I do not know it myself. The loss of my sight strengthened other senses and awoke some that are rarely used or indeed even known of. All I can say is that I sensed it. When the two of you were together, I felt a connection between you. I apologise if I brought something up that is sensitive or painful to you; that was not my intention.”  
After a few silent moments, Záhovar retreated back to her chair. ”It is sensitive indeed, but not for the reasons you think. It is dangerous, the knowledge of it. It can be used to harm me.”  
”And him, no doubt. Has that ever happened?”  
”Not yet,” Záhovar replied as she sheathed he dagger.  
”Then I shall pray that it never does. But...”  
”Yes?”  
”You say that as a berserker, he should be immune to this... compulsion. But this bond... Can you reach out to each other through it, beyond the physical?”  
”Yes,” Záhovar replied quietly.  
”When this someone tried to place the spell upon you... Could his change of behavior somehow be connected to this event?”  
Záhovar suddenly felt ice cold, and not because she had reached for the Unseen. ”It happened at the very beginning of this journey,” she whispered. ”I reached out to him during the assault, for I feared that I would not be strong enough to combat it on my own. Praktash told me that he... suffered, and went berserk the moment I let him go. When I met him again, he said something that triggered a memory I did not wish to relive. I scolded him, rejected him even, and after that he...”  
”He began resenting you?”  
”Yes... I did not see the pattern then, but...” She hugged herself. ”That _someone_ attempted to place me under compulsion. When that did not work... Or perhaps the attack on me was simply a decoy, a distraction to make me reach out to the true target? And through me, this _someone_ could bypass the berserker through the bond. And what is more, by using that, it would seem like I placed the compulsion myself!”  
”Using a negative emotion that he already harbored,” Eälaion filled in with a nod of understanding. ”Resentment? Grief? Anger?”  
”He acted out on it against me,” she continued with a grim face, ”Because he felt it like it came _from_ me. That is why I could not sense it; I searched for an alien presence, not my own!”  
”This is...” Eälaion began, but paused to swallow hard. ”I must confess, this conversation, what has been revealed... I am deeply disturbed. If there is any way I can aid you in this, you need only tell me. I will support you to the best of my ability.”  
”I may not be able to break the compulsion fully,” Záhovar said. ”Although it seems to come from me, I did not place it and so have no control over it. But I may be able to subdue it, if this is indeed what afflicts him. I may need your help, if only to lend me strength, if you can. I fear I am not as strong a sorcerer as I should be.”  
”Or perhaps you are as strong as you need be. I will do what I can.”  
  
”Pardon my curiosity,” Eälaion said as he stood to leave, ”but... You said that you rejected him after the attack upon you both. Why?”  
”He said something that made me uncomfortable because I do not understand it, that I have asked him time and again not to say.”  
”And what does he say that infuriates you so?”  
”...He says that he loves me.”  
Eälaion's mouth opened and closed a few times. ”What?”  
Záhovar looked away and tried to calm the storm inside. ”He has said it many times. I do not know what it means.”  
Eälaion's blindfolded face remained in her direction as if staring, perplexed, for several long moments. ”I was not aware that Orcs were capable of understanding such emotions.” He became thoughtful. ”How does he behave around you? What more does he say or do?”  
”He... says that he belongs to me. That he wants to protect me, but that I am my own greatest enemy. That he does not want to be anywhere but beside me. He also gives me odd looks. Calls me strange things. Akûlhân and... âmbal. It means 'ice moon' and 'sweetness'. And... Sometimes he behaves as if he owned me, not the other way around.”  
Now Eälaion was smiling. ”And what do you do when this happens?”  
”Nothing.”  
”Nothing at all?”  
”I did reject him outright the last time, and he has not repeated it since. I do not wish to encourage him. I need him clear of mind and body.”  
”And is he?”  
Záhovar frowned. ”What do you mean?”  
”Is he clear of mind? Does he act the way you want him to?”  
”...No. Even beyond the compulsion, he has been unusually sluggish and reluctant to carry out even the simplest command. He has become unreliable.”  
”That is because your rejection causes him great pain,” Eälaion explained. ”I suppose you could say that falling in love is a kind of... compulsion. But it is a benevolent one and it cannot be forced the way you described the spell. He still retains his mind, and you will never be able to control it the way you would with a spell.”  
”And what would you suggest? That I encourage him?”  
”Yes! The closer you let him, the more stable he will be. If he truly means what he has said, then he will never betray you if you do. Watch him. Let him teach you, if you wish.”

Záhovar fell silent, pondering his words. As she sipped the ghâshpau, she began to cough again. Eälaion handed her a napkin from the tray with a concerned expression as she spat out more black slime.  
”This poison is very rare.”  
”Whoever arranged for me to take it knew how it would affect me. _That_ it would affect me.”  
Eälaion nodded grimly. ”Most poisons attack the body directly, by harming tissue in some way. Nightfoam does not; that is what makes it so insidious. Completely devoid of scent and taste, the substance reacts with alcohol and with saliva to form the foam, which then reacts with air to solidify. It hardens in the lungs with every breath, killing the recipient slowly and painfully. As I told your companions, there is no known cure. Until now, that is.” He gave the ghâshpau flask a calculating look. ”I wonder what it is made of, this Orc-drank. This discovery was a most unexpected stroke of luck.”  
”You could ask Praktash, but I doubt that he would tell you. I am told that every brewer has their own recipe, some more effective than others.”  
”Then I shall let him keep his secrets. But if you would accept advice from a humble servant, I would encourage him to take note of the recipe he used for this particular batch.”  
”I shall inform him,” Záhovar replied with a little smile. ”Return here tomorrow eve; I will see to it that Graznikh comes as well. Then we can properly deal with this nuisance of a spell.”  
  
  
Graznikh tapped his claws against the doorpost before entering the waiting room outside the audience hall in Thaurband fortress. The Lion was already there and looked up from a book as Graznikh entered. From the brief glimpse Graznikh had of the letters, he thought he recognised them from somewhere but could not place them.  
”Thank you for coming,” the Lion said.  
”How's she doing?” Graznikh asked quietly.  
”Far better than she was. I must say, your friend's healing skills are remarkable.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Bet ya didn't expect that from a Black Uruk, eh?”  
”Indeed not.” The priest smiled. ”And how are you doing?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Better'n I was. Why?”  
”Your outburst during the poisoning event had me worried.”  
”Why?”  
”I feared that you and your mistress had fallen apart. I did not save your life in Khand only to watch the both of you die now.”  
 _So you know that she's a 'she' now, do ya?_ ”And what's that to you?” Graznikh barked. ”You only saved my arse to get in good with my master!”  
”Perhaps. And what good would it do me if the two of you die?”  
”Maybe you found someone else to leech? Someone who wants her dead.”  
The Lion scowled. ”You have changed... And not entirely for the better.”  
”Yeah, 'cause that's really something you can pick up from a few words years apart, just like that.”  
”Perhaps I can, at that. Although whoever described my skills at manipulation may have exaggerated a little, especially when it comes to dealing with someone who so easily traverses the veil between the worlds as your beautiful mistress.”  
Graznikh bared his fangs with a snarl. ”'Beautiful', izzit?”  
”Is it not?” the Lion asked quietly.  
The growl died in Graznikh's throat. ”You dunno the half of it...” He sat down crosslegged on the floor. ”So how much did she tell ya?”  
”She explained compulsion, her suspicions and told me of your love for her.”  
Graznikh looked up. ”My what now?”  
The high priest smiled and Graznikh could not tell if he was mocking him or not. ”Did she lie about that part?”  
”Maybe I shoulda asked what she _didn't_ tell ya, only you wouldn't know, would ya?” He sighed. ”Yeah, I guess I do. Not that it matters.”  
”I do believe it matters more than you know.”  
”An' what the fuck would you know 'bout anything?! Were you there when they tore her mind apart or what?!”  
Eälaion looked taken aback. ”Tore her..? No, I was not. I know nothing more than what the two of you have told me.”  
Graznikh snorted and looked away. ”Well, it's not gonna get any better just 'cause I keep clawing up that old wound over'n over. Did she tell ya what she plans to do with me?”  
”I'm afraid not.”  
”Probably more torture.” He gave the Lion a mirthless grin. ”This is gonna get ugly, ya know that right?”  
”Whatever she feels she must do... I am sure she does not do it lightly.”  
”You dunno the half of it,” Graznikh chuckled. He looked up as the door to the audience hall opened.

Praktash stuck his head in. ”Hey... It's time.”  
”Time to party,” Graznikh muttered as he got to his feet and followed his buddy, closely followed in turn by Eälaion. Záhovar stood beside a restraining table near the far end of the hall; her expression was as emotionless as ever but something in her scent and the way she carried herself told Graznikh that she had regrets about something. _Perhaps the Lion's right after all,_ he thought. He stopped in front of her and looked into her eyes; he wanted to say something but did not trust his tongue to obey, so he simply nodded instead and jumped up onto the table.  
”Remove your armour,” Praktash instructed. As Graznikh obeyed and was shackled to the table wearing nothing but his loincloth, Záhovar removed her gauntlets and turned to Eälaion.  
”Thank you for aiding me in this.”  
”No thanks are needed,” the priest replied, ”though I am unsure of what help I can be. You have told me so very little.”  
”What skill you possess matters little. I need only _you._ Fear not, I will not kill you,” she added as she noticed his reluctance. ”I will release you immediately should I sense that you have no more to give.”  
”But... How?”  
Záhovar frowned. ”You claimed to have studied sorcery. Is that not so?”  
”Yes, but we always studied alone. I am not familiar with this... 'giving' of power that you speak of.”  
”Very well; pay heed.” She held out a hand towards him. ”Touch is necessary when no bond is there to ease the giving.” Eälaion removed the glove that covered his scarred left hand and placed it in hers. Záhovar caught the flame from one of the candles in her other hand and let it grow. ”Now _give_ me.”  
Praktash watched with curiosity as Záhovar reached for the Unseen. Her silhouette slowly darkened and a ghostly blue arua began to flicker and grow around her. Then she reached for it through Eälaion, and the priest briefly lit up lika beacon of pure Light. Praktash cried out as it seared his eyes and quickly turned away, rubbing them furiously. The Light winked out as fast as it had lit as Eälaion pulled away.  
”Is this what you ask of me?” he whispered, his voice filled with dread. ”You would ask me to give you of my _soul_..?”  
”That is what sorcery is,” Záhovar replied. ”No deed of greatness can be performed, no things of Power made if we do not give of ourselves in their making.” She turned from him when he did not reply and walked over to Graznikh and Praktash. ”How fare you?”  
”Been better,” Praktash replied, eyes still watering.  
”It will pass,” Záhovar reassured him. Praktash noticed that she smelled as suspicious as he felt.  
Graznikh had to struggle to not snarl at her as she leaned close to his face. Záhovar reached out to him through the bond and he simultaneously wanted to lash out and embrace it; she felt so _sad._ But he managed to keep his voice low enough that not even Praktash heard as he whispered; ”whaddya gonna do?”  
”Finish it.” The answer was barely a breath upon his cheek, but it turned his insides to ice.  
”What? Záhovar, what?!”  
But Záhovar shut him out and did not reply. ”Have you decided?” she asked the priest.  
As Eälaion lifted his head, there was a bitter smirk upon his lips. ”‘Verily for the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only. And in that deed his heart shall rest.' So be it.”  
Graznikh tried to shy away from the hand that Záhovar placed upon his chest after taking Eälaion's. Her whisper had lit a fire of dread in him and the fear of death, the mindless will to survive no matter what overtook his unnatural rage. But the shackles were sturdy and there was no escape as she forced the bond open and opened herself wide. At that moment Graznikh realised exactly what she was going to do to him and he screamed like never before.

Moments. Tolls. Weeks, months, years. There was no telling how much time passed before the agony ended; perhaps a mere eyeblink. Eälaion staggered and fell to his knees once Záhovar released him; his lips and knuckles were white and he was gasping and sweating as if he had been running hard. Praktash offered him some ghâshpau but he declined, opting instead for wine. Záhovar eyed him as Praktash helped him slump down into an armchair.  
”I did not drain you overmuch, did I?”  
Eälaion shook his head. ”No, you need not fear. I am simply... not used to this.”  
Praktash sat down beside Graznikh. The pale berserker lay unmoving on the table, breathing slowly and shallowly. As Praktash placed a hand on his shoulder he twitched ever so slightly and opened his eyes into slits, proving that he was still conscious.  
”How ya doin', buddy?”  
”Feel... Sick...” Graznikh breathed.   
”Can I get ya anythin'..?”  
Graznikh shook his head; it was barely visible. Then he dryheaved and cramped. Praktash wiped away the yellow bile that trickled from the corner of his mouth and gave Záhovar a frightened look as she joined them.  
”I know that you are weak,” she said, ”but you should try to eat or drink something. You will not regain your strength if you do not.”  
Graznikh nodded again after a while. Praktash took the ghâshpau skin and held it to his lips, making sure that he only took small sips from it. The first sip came back up before it had even reached his stomach and it took five more tries before it finally stayed down.   
”'M gon' have nightmares,” Graznikh whispered after the rejuvenating liquid had run its course through his body.  
”You're not the only one,” Praktash said as he undid the shackles. He gave Záhovar a frightened look. ”Did you know it'd be like this?”   
A chill ran down his spine as she nodded. ”I have been through it myself.”  
”You... have..?”  
”Every spell I know, every kind of sorcery I am capable of using; Gîrakûn made sure that I was intimately familiar with the effects of each new spell before she permitted me to practice the spell itself.” She placed a hand on Graznikh's arm. ”I would not have attempted this had I not been convinced that you were strong enough to survive it.”  
”So did it work?” Praktash asked. Záhovar took a deep breath and reached out through the bond. Graznikh frowned as she did so; it felt strange, wrong somehow, like it should not be there but was anyway. He could remember all the feelings he used to have for her, the good as well as the bad, but now there was... nothing. He did however feel her inward scream of anguish as they made contact.  
  
Praktash looked expectantly at Záhovar. Her face was calm and cool as she nodded, but then she spun and ran out of the room without a word. Eälaion had been sitting quietly in his chair with half-closed eyes, chin leaning against his chest, but now his head snapped up.  
”I will speak with her,” he sat as Praktash began to rise. ”Tend to your friend. He needs you.”  
”So does she,” Praktash murmured but remained seated and allowed 'the Lion' to leave.  
Záhovar fled to the private quarters that she and Graznikh had trashed only days before and barely managed to close the door before she collapsed on the bedroom floor. She cried and cried; her heart felt like it had been ripped out of her chest and the sensation of Graznikh's indifference kept washing over her, intensifying her grief. The door opened; Eälaion knelt beside her and she clung to him, weeping like a frightened child while he stroked her back and whispered softly, attempting to soothe her agony.  
”Sweet, lost child, little flickering light in the dark...” he murmured with a strangely singing voice. ”How you have suffered...”  
”Nûdrokauk, gur sanutikh maktu!” she cried. ”Gur nulgan rezhdat!”  
She prayed, and the Dark Lord heard and answered. She was vaguely aware of Eälaion's cry as he jerked away from her, then He beckoned and she could do naught but obey with every fragment of her battered fëa.  
 _SWEET, LOST CHILD, LITTLE FLICKERING LIGHT..._ His voice dripped with blood and honey, mocking and scorning her weakness, but even the scorn comforted beyond all sanity. _YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR COMFORT LIES. CALL TO THEM AND THEY SHALL RESPOND IN KIND.  
_ Her spirit obeyed without hesitation. She veiled herself in blessed Shadow and Unseen that washed all emotion from her, trickling like dirty water from her spirit and evaporating the moment it dripped from her. Then she opened her mouth and Called. And her fragmented fëa groaned as the answer came.  
  
Praktash had come running when he heard the scream. Now he stood in the doorway beside Eälaion, who looked even paler than before. ”What the fuck..?”  
”No, do not touch her!”  
Záhovar lay on the floor, eyes wide and staring into a world that only she could see with an enraptured expression. But Praktash got a hint; he could see the mad flicker of the Unseen all around her. The corners of her eyes flickered as well, as if a fire was raging beyond them.   
”How is this possible?” Eälaion whispered, more to himself than to Praktash. ”How is she not dead? How could any one of the Eldar suffer such a presence and not perish?”  
”She sure is a special little lady,” Praktash responded faintly. Eälaion fell silent, and at that moment Záhovar stirred. The fire receded from her eyes and she blinked and gasped a few times, then she sat up before Praktash or Eälaion could reach her. Praktash noticed the priest's flinch as she looked at them with an eerily calm expression.  
”Hey master,” Praktash said with an unsure grin. ”Just checkin' on ya.”  
”I am well,” she responded quietly. ”And how is my Lug-snaga?”  
”Tucked into bed. I think he's asleep, if all the ruckus didn't wake him up.”  
Záhovar frowned slightly. ”What ruckus?”  
Praktash hesitated. ”Oh... Just some fight downstairs. Y'know how it can be; busy night'n all.”  
She nodded solemnly before directing her attention to Eälaion. ”I thank you for your aid. Ask whatever you wish of me; if it lies within my power, it shall be yours.”  
There was a tension around his mouth that might have been concern as he nodded submissively to her. ”The knowledge that I have been of service is reward enough for now. Perhaps I may call upon a return favour at some other time?”  
”That you may. You are leaving then?”  
He nodded. ”This was only meant to be a brief detour, and I fear that I have worried my flock more than I should. It has been an honour, High Officer.” He bowed again, then collected his knapsack and walked out the door. As he passed a room further down the hall, the door opened and Graznikh caught his shoulder and pushed him up against the wall.  
”Got a question, if ya don't mind,” he growled. ”What the fuck did ya mean by 'Eldar'?!”  
”Is that what you heard?” Eälaion said calmly. ”I fear my Black Speech is a little rusty.”  
”The fuck're you doin' outta the bed?” Praktash asked as he and Záhovar came into the corridor. ”An' leave that poor guy alone, he's seen enough of our antics as it is.”  
”Has he now?” Graznikh growled before he let him go with a look that said 'I'm onto you'. Then he turned to Záhovar. ”So...”

She met his gaze with eyes as cold as the grave. Even the bond felt cold. Graznikh reached out and brushed a knuckle against her chin the way he used to do, but it just felt awkward. There was simply no connection whatsoever, and a tiny part of him kept howling that this was wrong, that everything was _wrong,_ but he shut it out. He scowled as he withdrew. ”This is gonna take some time to get used to.”  
”Perhaps.”  
”So... We good now?”  
”Good?”  
”Yeah, y'know... Not on fighting terms anymore. I don't feel pissed for no reason anymore, at any rate.”  
”Then we are... good. But there is still much to do.”  
”Yeah, let's go rip an Officer's throat out. Been postponing this hunt for far too long.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nûdrokauk – creator, maker, engineer  
> Gur sanutikh maktu – lit. 'I cannot more'. I can't do this, I cannot handle this anymore  
> Gur nulgan rezhdat – I want/wish to surrender


End file.
